Explosions in the Sky
by rhombus
Summary: Summer 2009. Kyle/Oliver triangle fic. Subtract Nick, add Schuyler. *WIP*
1. Chapter 1:  Sauna Me

**Chapter One - Sauna Me

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_August 6, 2009_

**Schuyler**

God, he was such an idiot. Kissing Gigi? Smooth move, Casanova. Now what was he supposed to do? Their friendship would limp on, mortally wounded by his eager mouth and stupid roving tongue, but it was all just a sham, wasn't it? Staying friends? They couldn't. Not after what he did. Exposing those feelings to her that were summarily shut down. Laughed at, even.

But wasn't it that easiness, that penchant of hers to take things as they came with a good-natured smile and shrug of the shoulders that drew him to her in the first place? He just never expected that _he'd_ be one of her problems that needed shrugging off.

_You're a bonehead, Joplin._

He made a vow to himself right then. If he was gonna get involved, he'd make sure the other person was _not_ his friend. Anything but that. Because when it went south, which it would, he had no illusions about that, at least he could go back to something comfortable, like hating the other person's guts. Not this weird uneasiness where he felt like every move he made was too conspicuous, every word too loud, every look, every touch too intimate, too unwanted.

He felt all twitchy inside. That always happened to him after an encounter with Rex. What an asshole that guy was. What the hell was Gigi thinking? Maybe he shouldn't get this worked up over a girl who was stupid enough to give a guy like that another shot. Again. Hell, she couldn't have picked anyone worse if she tried. Well, maybe that dirtbag who tried to make a quick buck off her sick kid. But he was only slightly worse than Rex.

Oh, the many perils of crushing on one's friend. Schuyler snickered to himself. He'd have been better off kissing someone he hated, like Rex. And the way Rex looked at him sometimes... maybe that wasn't so out of the ballpark. He chuckled. Yeah, Gigi could really pick 'em. What he really needed, he decided, was a good work-out. Get all that frenetic energy out of him. Maybe a jog or some weights at the gym. And then a nice, long shower. The kind of shower where he just stood there forever and let the water hit his face, until he forgot everything, until his brain went white with calm and he felt like floating away.

It was the closest he ever felt to being high again.

If that was the case, maybe he should've tried enjoying it less. So, no shower. Not today. The steam room would have to do. He hoped it was a quiet day at the gym. He really didn't feel like making small talk with any chatty strangers.

**Kyle**

_God damn it! Damn it all to hell!_

What the _hell_ was he thinking, kissing Oliver like that? _Way to keep your distance, moron._ Now all he was gonna do for the rest of the day was mope around like some lovesick fool, and that _really_ wasn't what he wanted to do. He was better than that. He wasn't gonna let that jerk call him a freak and make him cry. No. Not this time. He was gonna go hit something. Hard.

He had just finished taping one fist in the locker room at Serenity Springs when he remembered. That's where they'd met. Again. That stupid punching bag brought all that grief back. He was doing fine on his own—okay, not exactly fine, he got himself caught up in some stuff that would get him kicked out of med school if Roxy or Stacy ever blabbed—and then Oliver had to go and stumble back into his life.

Why'd he have to come back to Llanview, anyway? Hadn't that little craphole town he'd gone to police been good enough for him? Didn't he realize this was Kyle's town? Kyle's whole life was here, it was all he had; Oliver didn't need to make this place his home too. Was he _trying_ to hurt him? To rub it in his face all over again that he was with women, that Kyle didn't matter to him, that what they had wasn't real or worth anything? Because that was just... mean. And pretty fucked up.

But, no. Kyle let out a deep sigh. He doubted that anything Oliver did had anything to do with him. Oliver didn't care. Made that quite clear today, shoving him, practically telling him he belonged with the other garbage in that alley. Even after Kyle admitted that he loved him, loved him still.

Kyle began ripping the tape off his knuckles. It stung like hell and left his skin puffy and red, but he barely felt it. He was burning up inside. He had to get this out of him, all these feelings, all this anger. He didn't want to end up doing something stupid. Get himself into trouble again, and right after he just escaped the last disaster.

So, he could pound the bag and pretend it was Oliver's face, and just sink lower into his bad mood, or he could go for a run, maybe come back for a relax in the steam room. It would be more cleansing that way, getting all the toxins out of him. He had to start over. It was the only way to survive. Otherwise, he'd just... he'd do something really fucking dumb is what he'd do.

**Schuyler**

He clutched his towel close to his waist and pushed through the steam room door, but quickly met resistance as it banged up against a hard-ish object.

"Oof!" said the object.

"Oh, sorry, man, I didn't know you were standing right—" He stopped, taking in the appearance of his victim. "_You_." He didn't mean to growl it out so hatefully, but, well, he was still in a bad mood, despite his lung-achingly long run through the park and 65 reps on the chest press.

Kyle Lewis scowled at him, his hair matted to his head and his body dripping with condensation. He'd already been here awhile; hopefully he was leaving.

"I am in no mood for this, Joplin."

"Great." Schuyler smacked his lips, obnoxiously, he knew, but he couldn't help it. "So, you were just leaving, then?" He held the door open with one hand while he gripped his towel with the other.

Kyle glared at him, then took a step back, settled onto one of the benches, and crossed his arms over his chest defiantly. "I'm not going anywhere, _pal_." Schuyler thought he might pull out the classic, _I was here first!_ followed by a childish _Neener neener!_

"What're you gonna do about it?" Kyle said instead. "Assault me again?"

Schuyler instantly flashed to their previous heated encounters. Slamming Kyle over a desk, getting right up in his face, pinning him down with weights. A hot rush of blood flowed through him. That all sounded pretty good right about now. He could use that kind of release after his incredibly shit-tastic day.

He took a step toward Kyle and grinned at him, enjoying the antagonism far more than he knew he should. "I don't see your cop friend around to pull me off you this time."

"He's _not_—" Kyle closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath through his nose. That must've hurt; the air in the room was so thick and hot. "He's not my friend."

_Woah._ That stopped Schuyler in his tracks. He expected a strong reaction from Kyle, but about the implied threat—not the cop. That was... weird. It threw him off his game for a second. Damn him. An annoying little twerp, through and through. He wouldn't even let Schuyler have the satisfaction of a proper fight.

"Whatever," he muttered, slightly deflated. "You're not worth the effort."

Kyle flinched at that, though Schuyler couldn't really figure out why, and then Kyle launched up, storming toward him like that furious little chicken hawk from the old Foghorn Leghorn cartoons.

"_What_ is your problem, dude? What gives you the right to judge me?"

Schuyler sneered. "I generally don't like people who profit on the suffering of others."'

"Like you've never made a mistake."

"I was young!" Schuyler burst out, running a hand through his quickly-dampening hair. "And stupid! But I've been clean for years now. Why won't anyone drop it?"

Kyle looked at him like he'd grown a second head.

_Oh._ He was probably talking about the whole Starr Manning mess. Still, Schuyler wasn't going to give up the moral high ground here. He'd never taken advantage of people who were desperate. Or, at least when he had, he'd been high, and desperate himself.

"You are such a hypocrite!" Kyle yelled, inching ever so closer.

"And you're a piece of dirt!"

Kyle shook his head, his mouth a hard line. "You want people to leave you alone, yet you're always up in my face. The charges were _dropped_, man. Let it go. It's done." Kyle flicked him against the chest. Hard. "You and Gigi can go off and live your happy little life and leave me the hell out of it."

Schuyler swung out his arm. "There's the door." The conversation had suddenly lost his interest.

"I was here first!"

And there it was. They'd been reduced to this. Pathetic. The both of them. Schuyler scoffed at the whole scene. Here they were, a couple of adults, squabbling like children.

"God, Kyle. What are you? Thirty?" He looked him up and down, ignoring the hot rush of blood that had suddenly returned. "You could at least try acting like it."

Kyle gasped. Audibly, comically loud. "I am _not_ thirty!" He reached out, and Schuyler thought he was going to shove him, as if this were a schoolyard and he'd just called Kyle's mama fat, but he grabbed Schuyler by the wrist instead and brought his hand to his bare stomach. "Feel these abs! These are the abs of a twenty-something, thank you."

Now it was Schuyler's turn to gasp. He tried not to, but it escaped anyway. Kyle's skin was scorching, warmed even further by the hot steam in the room. It made his throat dry up. The heat in the room, he meant. Not—not touching Kyle.

That didn't explain why he was still doing it, why his hand hadn't retreated. Kyle had pulled himself up close, their noses almost touching, in order to facilitate Schuyler's inspection of his twenty-something abs, and Schuyler could feel each hot breath, even through the thick steam all around them, hitting his face.

His body tensed. Adrenaline rushed through every vein, setting his skin on fire. Fight or flight, his body was telling him.

Kyle was still breathing hard. So was Schuyler. _Fight or flight. Or fuc—_

"Get off!" Schuyler wrenched out of Kyle's grip and roughly pushed him away. Kyle stumbled backwards. His towel had loosened, slipped down his hips, revealing a patch of dark hair crowning his pelvis. Schuyler forced himself to look up, into Kyle's eyes instead. Which were painted with more fury than he could ever remember seeing in them.

"I swear, if _one_ more person shoves me today—!"

"You'll what, Kyle?" Schuyler sucked on an incisor and jerked his head. He realized it might've made him look a bit like a hungry wolf.

Kyle's face relaxed slightly, and he quirked an eyebrow, as if asking if that was an invitation. Oh, it was definitely an invitation. Schuyler licked his bottom lip and motioned Kyle forward, a silent _you-want-summa-this?_ With something like anticipation in his eyes, Kyle growled. And then he lunged.

_I guess that's his RSVP._

Schuyler's whole body felt charged, from his head to his toes—and every appendage in between. _Every_ appendage. This was what he wanted. Enough with the talking. It was time to get physical.

**Kyle**

Kyle didn't know when it happened. When grappling turned into groping, snarling into kissing, grunting into, well... grunting. Maybe it was when both their towels slipped off in the struggle and they realized their erections were rubbing right up against each other. That may have been when the tide turned.

He hadn't planned on getting this turned on by Schuyler Joplin, of all people, but he was already all fired up, and then the yelling happened, the close-talking, the heavy breathing, the touching... Schuyler's eyes had gone ink-black, and he smelled really good, and everything was warm and wet and those hard, bare thighs had pressed up against his sides in the tussle. One little turn of the head, a recognition in those dark eyes, and then their mouths had crashed together, angry and hungry and hard and punishing. Teeth and tongue, scraping and pulling, sucking, biting, conceding, satisfying.

The kid was good. Made Kyle think maybe this wasn't his first time at the rodeo.

_Mmm... Rodeo..._

He ran a hand down Schuyler's slick chest, over the hard ridges of his abdomen, down to where their lower bodies were having their own struggle, grinding against one another—a bit too haphazardly for his tastes. He needed to find purchase, to exert control.

Time to employ a distraction. He grabbed hold of Schuyler, tight, around the base. Schuyler inhaled sharply, and his eyes rolled up into near total whiteness. Kyle's left arm snaked around Schuyler's neck, and using his weight he rolled them so Schuyler lay flat on his back, Kyle firmly on top of him. Then he released his grip, just slightly, and moved his fist up, slowly, ever so slowly. Schuyler groaned... and panted... and smiled. His hands moved up Kyle's chest, his sides, curling around his shoulders to his back, digging into skin, marking a trail of angry clawed flesh newly come to life.

So they were in agreement for once. Aggressive was good.

Kyle leaned in, ready to make those smiling lips his again, when he felt the room spin, watched the walls tilt, felt a small gust of air burst out of his stomach. He was on his back, Schuyler on top now, straddling him, retracing the reddened, scoured skin on his chest with hard, unyielding lips, down, down, all the way down. Kyle palmed his head, urging him on.

But Schuyler shook it off, pulled up, pinned Kyle's hips to the floor with strong hands. He moved in, deliberately slow, and pulled Kyle's lower lip into his mouth with his teeth, stretching it painfully then releasing it. Kyle's tongue darted out, inspecting, analyzing, tasting the barest flavor of blood. And then, unexpectedly, even to him, he rumbled out a low, appreciative growl. And grinned.

Aggressive was _very_ good.

Kyle cupped his hands behind Schuyler's ears and then they were kissing again, turning again, a constant struggle for dominance that pushed his excitement higher with each shift of power.

He could chalk up his eagerness to deprivation. It had been far too long since he'd gotten any. At least since April. Since—

Well. Since April.

So he wasn't going to blame himself for jumping on the ripped naked guy in the room who was clearly hot for him, who liked to bend him over desks and press up against him and get in his face all the time. Kyle never knew he liked it a little rough like that. Must've been a new development.

He moved down, nipping at Schuyler's stomach, watching the muscles twitch. Beads of sweat and steam pooled in the little dips of his body. Kyle made a game of catching the longest rivulets with his tongue, much to Schuyler's apparent delight, if his terse moans and tense fingers gripping one of the discarded towels were any indication.

But he could tell Schuyler was getting impatient with this tortuously slow work-up. His hips thrust into the air, firm and demanding drives that prodded Kyle's shoulder. He raised up, grabbed Schuyler firm around the waist, then tugged him forcefully down, dragging him along the wet floor until their lower bodies jammed together in a swift surge of pleasure and pain.

Schuyler grunted and arched his back.

"You like that?" Kyle growled.

"As much as you did." Schuyler grinned. "Ass."

Kyle laughed. He couldn't help it. He thought for a moment he'd lost his mind, because he glanced down at their dueling hard-ons and in a flash of whimsy said, "Looks like a sword fight down there."

He thought Schuyler might _actually_ bust a gut laughing.

"You sound like you've never done this before."

Kyle shrugged, then started rolling his hips in a steady motion. "It's been a while. You?"

"Longer."

"Ever...?"

Schuyler's eyes narrowed. "I know what I'm doing." He reached down and with a quick tug had Kyle panting and groaning.

"That you do," he managed to breathe out, once the stars had faded from his line of sight.

He couldn't ignore that old competitive spirit, though, and decided to engage in a little round of _"Who's More Adventurous?"_

"You ever...?" He slid a hand down between their slick, warm bodies. His fingers ran through coarse hairs while his thumb ventured lower, rubbing up against the puckered hole it found there.

"Stacy..." Schuyler said, enigmatically.

Kyle stopped, his thumb pressing lightly against tender flesh. "What?"

Schuyler gulped, closing his eyes, still panting hard. "Had a strap-on. Knew how to use it."

Now Kyle closed _his_ eyes and let out a shuddering breath. Damn. He probably wasn't gonna win the _"Who's More Adventurous?"_ sweepstakes. He forgot that Schuyler had a whole second sex to adventure with.

"Interesting," he mused, more to himself than Schuyler. He bit his lip, pressed down with his thumb—already slippery and wet, like everything else in the balmy room—and nudged in the tip. Schuyler clenched, but the pressure slowly receded, and Kyle was able to push all the way in, flexing his knuckle to help stretch the walls.

"Mmm," Schuyler moaned. And then, "Oh God," as Kyle found a sensitive spot. The tips of his fingers stretched up and began fondling Schuyler, almost of their own accord. "_Fuck,_" he breathed out. "Jesus... _fuck_." His grip around Kyle's erection tightened, and they fell into a steady rhythm, give and take, back and forth, almost like a game of tug-of-war.

Felt great. Felt amazing. All of the stress that had building and building, ever since he met Stacy Morasco, ever since Oliver snaked back into his life, into his thoughts, into his heart, ever since his sister died and left him alone in the world with nothing but a police record—it all evaporated, carried off by particles of steam, molecule by molecule, until he felt clean again, clean and light and unburdened.

Maybe that was an exaggeration. Maybe it was just that really good sex felt really fucking good, and it had just been too damn long.

Schuyler jacked him with one hand, took care of himself with the other, and the whole world really did seem to fade, covered in pure, white steam, and then he arched his back, crying out, and felt it all melt away.

And then he smiled.

**Schuyler**

Schuyler collapsed onto his back, panting, his arm resting on his sweaty forehead. That was... that was unexpected. He felt Kyle roll off him and lay a few inches by his side.

He glanced over at Kyle, who had the smuggest grin on his face he'd ever seen. It was a grin that was just begging to be punched out of existence. Schuyler held back. Mostly because he didn't know if he could swing his arms with any force at the moment.

He laughed instead. "What... just happened?"

Kyle folded his hands behind his head, looking every bit the self-satisfied asshole. It was kind of cute, in a way. And he kind of hated himself for thinking that.

"I just rocked your world, Joplin."

"Yeah right."

"_Oh, Kyle,_" he mimicked in a high pitch voice. "_Don't stop! You're making me crazy, Kyle! I can't get enough, Kyle!_"

Schuyler laughed, and shoved him lightly on the shoulder. "In your dreams."

Kyle turned on his side, propping his head on a hand, and smirked at him. His eyes sparkled, but maybe that was just an effect of the room.

"Still can't stand you, you know," he said.

"The feeling is _incredibly_ mutual," Schuyler replied.

Now would've been the time to get up, get a towel back around the waist, get the hell out of there and back to his empty apartment and his unfinished caseloads. But he couldn't make himself. Physically, he meant. He was completely spent. He'd never admit it, but his world did feel just the slightest bit rocked.

He could blame it on the self-imposed abstinence of late. That was what happened when you fell in love with someone you could never, ever have. He tried to push Gigi out of his mind, to find a suitable distraction. Unfortunately, the only thing that had been able to accomplish that of late was staring at him with dark eyes and that stupid face and those pink, firm lips...

"You know," Kyle said. He sucked his lower lip into his mouth. Schuyler's own mouth twitched with a sudden jealousy. "Getting screwed by Stacy is one thing..."

"Haven't we all been, at one time or another?" he quipped. Kyle grinned, but only a little.

"But you do realize you just had sex with another man, right? I mean, you can't go pretending it never happened." His eyes went faraway, his voice scraping out through a newly formed lump of bitterness. "I mean, you can. But it'd be a total dick move."

"You speaking from experience?"

Kyle lowered his head, but he didn't answer. He looked like someone had just shot his dog out in the barn. He pulled a towel over his midsection, covering his nudity in a sudden and unexplained show of modesty. A strange, unfocused gloom washed over Schuyler. He didn't know why. He wasn't responsible for Kyle or his weird mood swings. Still... he felt like he needed to say something, anything at all, to smooth over this odd new bump they'd hit.

"You know, I did a lot of things when I needed a fix that I never thought I'd do." He shrugged a shoulder and felt a lip quirk up. "Including men."

Kyle rolled his eyes, but he wasn't frowning anymore. "I'm not carrying, if that's what you're after."

Schuyler ran a hand slowly up Kyle's thigh and smiled, suddenly feeling very seductive. "Oh, you're carrying _something_, Kyle."

Then he pulled back a little, but not too much. Where did that come from? Was he... flirting with Kyle Lewis? _Jesus, Joplin, you just had sex with the guy. A little flirting shouldn't crack the radar of wrongness; it's already been shattered to high hell._ But it felt right somehow, too, because Kyle smiled at him then, a genuine smile, and he'd never seen Kyle look that way before. He always had a scowl on his face, or a frown, or a stupid, infuriating smirk. This smile was something different, something softer, and the way it made his eyes light up, and the way he looked at Schuyler like he was suddenly the only person on the planet—it was kind of mesmerizing, even if he knew it was all a fluke. Another of Kyle's sleazy tricks.

The guy was scum. That didn't mean Schuyler wasn't attracted to him. He obviously was—had been since the first time Stacy brought him to the apartment, but that didn't mean he had to take this any further. He was just upset, still smarting from Gigi's rejection. That was all. And then Kyle was there, and he was a sparring partner, a warm body, a good laugh.

He could see Kyle's tongue working against the inside of his cheek, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Before he knew what the little sneak was up to, his shoulders were pinned to the floor, a heavy weight landing on his belly. He cried out in surprise, then quickly fell into breathless laughter as Kyle, straddling him now, leaned in and nipped at his nose, smiling. Schuyler smiled back—totally against his will. He was sure.

He brought a hand up to Kyle's neck. "Thought you couldn't stand m—?"

_BANG!_

The door slammed open. They both shot up, moved aside, covered themselves with towels—though there was half a second of confusion as they grabbed for the same towel, before Kyle scrambled back and found the other.

"Kyle?" the new arrival practically yelped.

Kyle stood, adjusted his towel, both hands gripped vise-like around it.

"Oliver." He spoke quietly, his voice like a threat.

Lifting himself off the wet ground, Schuyler squinted at the intruder. He wore gym shorts, a black t-shirt, and a very worried look on his face. Schuyler recognized him then. It was the cop. The one who'd been bothering Stacy a while back. Who'd stopped him from beating the crap out of Kyle at the Angel Square Hotel. Or, well, he might've now guessed their last scuffle could have ended a _little_ differently without the interruption.

The cop stared between them, back and forth, back and forth, as if there were some secret tennis match going on that neither of them knew about. "Someone said they heard, um, noises, and then it sounded like someone was hurt... or something... So I just—" He closed his fists into tight balls. "What's going on here?"

Kyle stepped backwards, still holding his towel tight around his waist. He _really_ didn't want this guy to see him naked. Which was weird, since he'd had no trouble letting someone he hated have a glimpse before things had gotten... interesting. There must've been something there. Something different. Not hate. Something... worse? Deeper?

"Nothing's going on," Kyle said. "Schuyler—this guy over here—fell. He slipped and I was just helping him up."

Schuyler's eyebrows shot up. _Interesting._

"Naked?"

"It's a steam room, Oliver. Clothing isn't exactly an option." Kyle had shrunk all the way back into the corner. Schuyler was content to let him handle this one. He crossed his arms over his chest and observed. "What are you doing here, anyway?" Kyle said. "I thought you were on duty or something."

The cop frowned. "Reduced shift. Starting a new case with McBain that's gonna pile up the overtime. He gave me the rest of the day—" He stopped suddenly, his mouth wide like a catfish, as if he'd shared too much. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, then said in a voice just shy of commanding, "I could still book you two for indecent exposure."

Kyle looked away, his eyes hard and shaded. "Do it, then."

"Wait a second!" Schuyler jumped in. He wasn't gonna let Kyle get both their asses thrown in jail over some insane pissing contest with a cop. "That's—that's totally not necessary, Officer. It's just like Kyle said. There was, uh, a tumble, and—and then Kyle here offered a helping hand..."

He thought he heard Kyle snort at that.

The cop glared, first at Kyle, then at Schuyler.

And that's when Schuyler saw it.

Jealousy.

He'd figured it out. There was something going on between Kyle and the cop. He probably should have noticed it sooner. Like Angel-Square-Hotel sooner. But, well, he'd been preoccupied then. Helping Gigi out was a full-time job sometimes.

He sighed. _Gigi. The Forbidden Topic._ It always came back to Gigi. He didn't want their relationship to get all tense and awkward. He didn't want to end up like Kyle and his cop friend. He'd find a way to fix it, to turn back the clock and make that kiss never happen. They could pretend. They could both pretend.

Kyle's voice cut through his thoughts. Or, the memory of Kyle's voice.

_You can't go pretending it never happened... It'd be a total dick move._

"Hello? I _said_, are you hurt? Do you need medical attention?"

Schuyler blinked. The cop was talking to him.

"Medical attention?"

"For the fall?"

Kyle took a step forward. "He's fine, Oliver. Med student, remember? I checked him out. He's..." Kyle shot him a quick glance. And possibly the barest hint of a smile. "He's good."

Schuyler suddenly wasn't so sure about that. He thought maybe he'd hit his head, because he did something then that could not be rationally explained. He brushed past the cop and sauntered over to Kyle, relishing the confused, almost puppy-ish look on his face. Then he leaned in and captured his lips with his own. His tongue darted out, tasted dried blood from the earlier bite. Kyle froze, but didn't push him away.

"See you around, Kyle." He winked. "Thanks for the hand."

Kyle's mouth dropped open, then quickly snapped back shut.

As he strutted out of the room, Schuyler wasn't exactly sure if he'd done it because he kind of liked Kyle now, despite himself, or because he still hated his guts and wanted to see him to squirm. In either case, it was done.

It was something he talked about a lot in recovery. The choices he made were in the past. No going back. All he could do now was move forward, one day at a time.

**Kyle**

Kyle stroked his bottom lip with his thumb. It had started bleeding again. Oliver looked away, his mouth set in a hard line.

_Damn Schuyler. Damn him._

He wrapped the towel tighter against his body. The terry cloth dug into his fingers and the skin was starting to burn. He stared at Oliver. And he waited—for something; for anything.

But Oliver just stood there, not looking at him, obviously pissed off but unable—or unwilling—to express his true feelings to Kyle.

And Kyle was goddamn sick of it. "Excuse me," he mumbled, pushing past a frozen Oliver for the door. A hand, firm around his bicep, stopped him.

"Kyle—?" Oliver finally turned, finally looked him in the eyes. Kyle's breath caught in his throat. He hated being this close to Oliver—hated being so close and unable to hold him in his arms, to smooth the worries from his face, to bring him comfort, and love, and peace. It was all an illusion, though. He wasn't sure if he'd ever really done that. And he was sure as hell never gonna get to do it again.

"What?" he croaked out.

Oliver swallowed. "I—I don't want to have to arrest you again." His voice was quiet, laced with something Kyle couldn't quite distinguish. Maybe disappointment, or distrust, or... disgust.

Kyle saw himself in the alley again, shoved toward the dumpster. Nothing more than trash in Oliver's eyes. Something to use and then throw away. Someone else's problem. Worthless.

He closed his eyes, wrenched himself out of Oliver's grip. "Go to hell, Oliver." He let the door slam shut behind him.

He wished he could do the same to his heart.

* * *

(...TBC...)


	2. Chapter 2: Space Time

**Chapter Two - Space/Time

* * *

**

**Schuyler**

"Thanks for seeing me through everything with Stacy." Gigi smiled at him. A little sadly. "And for being so understanding."

God, he hated goodbyes. "Yeah, well... you—you take care." He leaned in for a hug, for one last touch, one final indulgence in his heart's careless mistake. It was the only way. No more Gigi. He was right; as soon as he kissed her, it was the end. They couldn't be friends. They couldn't pretend he didn't have feelings for her. The only thing to do was put space between them. Space and time.

But, oh, she was so warm in his arms.

Until the warmth was ripped away, replaced by chilly autumn air as he was spun and thrown.

"Get the hell off my girlfriend!" Rex's voice was almost as painful to his ears as the brick wall slamming against his cheekbone. "I've had enough of this crap!"

Schuyler blinked hard, fighting through the dull pain ringing through his head and the sharp sting of scratches along his skin. He took a deep breath before closing back in on Rex, getting between him and a clearly enraged Gigi.

It took all of his willpower to explain things with words instead of fists. He tried to speak slowly and clearly, just so Rex would get it through that thick skull of his. He wasn't going to be a problem anymore. He was saying goodbye. Giving up someone who meant more to him than he could possibly say, walking away, and all Rex could do was stand there and mug like a giant baboon.

"You're a regular saint," Rex sneered at him when he was done explaining.

Schuyler shook his head. "No. No, I'm—I'm not a saint. But you need to wake up and stop being so pissed off at me. Not for my sake; for your sake." He didn't know why he was doing it, why he was trying to help Rex of all people. He spared a quick glance at Gigi. She looked angry. But maybe—maybe a little heartbroken, too. He wanted to mend it for her. More than anything. No matter what it took, what he had to give up.

And if—if Rex Balsom was the one who could make her happy...

Schuyler sighed. He _wanted_ to hate giving in. But it was easier. Easier than fighting. Years of addiction had taught him that. He glared at Rex, at the man who had everything he wanted, without having to work for it at all.

"You have this amazing woman who loves you more than anything else in the world. If—if you don't realize that, then you're a jackass."

More fighting. More posturing. More twitching and flailing and stupid faces. Though Schuyler had made up his mind, that didn't mean it wasn't still boggled. He really didn't understand what Gigi saw in Rex. Yeah, he had a good body, possibly a sense of humor under that caveman brow, but he was also a possessive, controlling asshole who never took responsibility for his actions, who hurt her over and over again. He wasn't the nice guy Gigi fell in love with. He couldn't be.

But... maybe if Schuyler took himself out of the equation, they'd go back to what they were... The perfect couple. Maybe Rex would be the man Gigi fell in love with again. There had to be something there. There _had_ to be. He trusted Gigi to take care of herself. To know her own heart. If she wanted Rex, then Rex was what he would give her.

God, what a wounded martyr he made himself out to be. As if he were the big hero, doing what was best for the poor, helpless damsel. Gigi was a lot of things, but helpless wasn't one of them. It was what he loved most about her...

No. Not going down that road again.

He took one last look at her face. This was it. The end.

"Gigi, I just came to say goodbye." It was for the best. It hurt like hell, like withdrawal all over again, but it was for the best. For her, yes, but also for him. He couldn't keep putting himself out there for her just to get his face knocked into walls and his heart battered about. "I'm gonna miss our friendship. It really meant a lot to me." He turned to Rex, and fire flowed through his veins. "You are a lucky guy. Why not try to appreciate that? Appreciate _her_."

He walked off, and his head felt all hot with conflicting emotions. He barely realized where he was going or what he was doing. Time seemed to blip in and out of existence. Not that he wasn't used to the feeling. Just wasn't as fun as it used to be, back in Vegas.

Time blipped back into reality, and he found himself in the lobby of the hotel. Roxy stood behind the desk, dabbing the backs of her knuckles against her puffy, mascara-smeared cheeks. She looked a mess. He remembered then, seeing her storm out of Rodi's in tears. She had been a wild tornado then; now she looked small. Fragile.

"What are you looking at?" she snapped at him.

"Uh, nothing. Nothing." He averted his gaze from side to side, feeling all of a sudden under a spotlight. He had to say something to account for his being caught staring. He blurted out the first thing that came to him. "Have you seen Kyle around today?"

Roxy stopped. Stared. Her eyes were sharp little beads behind the sheen of tears.

"Hey. Don't go starting any trouble with him, Joplin. He's going through—" She sniffed, wiped away another smudged tear. "He's going through a rough time. People makes mistakes, y'know! They don't always tell you everything because—because they just can't! Doesn't mean the heart isn't in the right place. Doesn't mean you should shut them out."

Schuyler's brows pinched together. "Ohhhhhkay." He had a feeling Roxy was having a different conversation altogether. Possibly with someone who wasn't in the room. "So... Kyle's not around?"

Roxy grabbed a bottle from under the desk, screwed off the cap with amazing agility, and swallowed a large gulp, wiping her mouth sloppily with the back of her hand.

"I don't have GNP on the guy," she croaked out in that smoker's voice of hers.

"What?" Schuyler squinted at her. Now she was just talking total nonsense. He remembered what that was like.

"I'm not psycho. Don't got any crystal balls in the back." She gestured wildly behind her.

"Okay. Whatever." He shoved his hands in his pockets and started toward the stairs. Having a one-sided conversation with a drunkard wasn't worth the trouble, especially when he didn't particularly care where Kyle was. It had only been for cover anyway.

"Said he was going for a workout," Roxy said behind him. Schuyler stopped in his tracks. "Called me earlier. Said he needed to blow up some steam."

"Oh," Schuyler said, for lack of having anything else to say. He turned from the stairs and headed toward the exit instead. He had his hand on the knob when Roxy called out to him.

"Why you looking for him, anyway? Like I said, he doesn't need any more trouble, okay?"

Schuyler opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Why had he turned? Why had he asked? Now that he had an inkling of Kyle's whereabouts, he knew he was going to go find him. It just seemed... like the natural thing to do. The way Gigi used to seek _him_ out when she needed to talk.

He closed his eyes tightly as his brain skidded to a halt. He and Kyle were _nothing_ like him and Gigi.

_Yeah,_ he heard a voice in his head say, sounding suspiciously low and raspy. _Kyle actually kissed you back._

"He's been going to that gym a lot lately," Roxy said, breaking him out of his thoughts. She took another swig from her half-empty bottle. "Probably has some hunky new gym bunny working him out. Least I hope he does."

Schuyler couldn't stop the blush from racing across his cheeks. He ducked his head. "Thanks, Roxy. I, uh, I'm not gonna cause any trouble. I swear." She nodded at him absently, then went back to playing doting nursemaid with her bottle.

"He's not such a bad guy, you know," she said.

"Yeah," Schuyler replied quietly. "I know." He closed the door behind him.

Time was moving fast again. He felt like he hadn't stepped two feet outside the hotel when he was facing a wall of lockers at Serenity Springs. He poked his head onto the main floor of the gym, but didn't see that recognizable brown head of hair. A familiar voice drew him back into the locker room.

"...So you have sex with one girl and all the sudden, poof, you're not gay?"

Schuyler instinctively moved closer, staying out of sight. He wasn't _trying_ to overhear, but it wasn't like Kyle was using his indoor voice anyway. Another voice piped up. It took him a moment to recognize it. The cop.

"...I thought that you should know that nothing could ever happen between you and me, and—and so you could move on. Are we cool?"

"You tell me that—that _our_ relationship—the most meaningful relationship I've ever had in my life, by the way—was what? A layover for you? And then you ask me if we're cool? No, we're not cool."

Schuyler took a breath, trying to keep quiet. His heart was pounding loudly in his chest. They moved off, started whispering. He wanted to hear more, wanted to walk away, wanted to forget he'd heard what he'd heard. Listening in on private conversations wasn't exactly something to be proud of. He rested his head against the cold metal of a locker. Time was going all topsy-turvy on him again. His head ached from its abrupt meeting with the brick wall earlier. Blood throbbed through his temples, down to his jaw. He probably had a concussion. That was the only way to explain it. Why he wasn't moving off. Why he was straining to hear things that didn't involve him at all.

"...why would you want to help me?"

"'cause whether or not I like it or not, I—I still care about you."

Schuyler opened his eyes, stood up straight, looked toward the hall leading out of the locker room. Coming here, talking to Kyle—that was probably a bad idea. The guy obviously had his own problems. Had—had someone else to talk to already.

**Kyle**

He had so much hope in his chest, he thought his lungs might burst. Oliver was so close to letting all out, to finally admitting the truth. Here he was, in public—kind of—holding Kyle's hand, letting himself be comforted again.

Kyle didn't like hoping this much. It was the same way he felt in the alley when Oliver kissed him back. Before he was shoved away. Before Oliver broke his heart for the last time. Or so he'd thought.

Because like a curse falling from the sky, it happened all over again. Cristian butting in; Oliver pushing him away; Oliver lying; Oliver treating him like gum on the bottom of his shoe.

"Cut it out, man. Don't touch me!"

"What the hell are you—?"

Kyle held back the tears this time. It was easier. He was getting used to it.

And suddenly that wasn't okay. He didn't want to fall back into old habits. Didn't want to get sucked into Oliver's ongoing drama. He'd meant it in the alley. They were through. He couldn't keep harboring the stupid hope that if he stuck it out long enough, things would turn out okay for them. It hadn't worked in college, and he'd had four years to sit it out.

No. He had to cut Oliver out of his heart, once and for all. If Oliver could do it, then so could he.

So he did what he promised himself he'd never do, what he'd always hated Oliver for. He lied. About _them_. It was the only way. The only way to rid himself of the Oliver-shaped bruise on his heart.

Cris grilled them, in that bulldog protective way of his. Oliver looked so scared. It made Kyle's chest hurt. He did what he had to do—to push his own protective feelings away.

"He's in love with Layla. He's not gay. I guess he never was." He never took his eyes off Oliver. Watched him breathe out a small sigh of relief when Kyle covered for him. The eyes were still hard though. Still urging him on.

"But I thought you said the two of you had something going on in college."

"Yeah. In—in college, y'know, we'd get drunk and—" His throat dried up, making it hard to speak. "Y'know. I'd try to make a move on him, and he just wasn't interested." There was no going back now. He'd done it. And he hated Oliver for letting him do it. But he hated himself more. "And that's it. Sorry to cause you any trouble. Both of you."

The first step away was difficult. Heavy and slow. The next eased up a bit, and the next, as if he were shedding a heavy layer of skin with each movement. If that didn't put him out of his heart for good, watching Oliver stare at him with demanding, expectant eyes while he stripped all meaning from the only relationship that had ever meant anything to him at all—then he didn't know what would.

If anything, a distraction might help. He looked up and saw a familiar face heading toward the gym-proper. That hot guy who offered him a spot the other day. He hadn't given him much thought at the time—he'd still been so hung up on Oliver—but maybe he should've. Maybe that was just what he needed.

He smiled, halfheartedly admiring the man's physique as he approached. What had he said his name was again?

"Hey," Kyle said, getting his attention. "Nick, right?"

"Yeah," Nick said, smiling. He had incredibly white, straight teeth. "That's me. Though, I didn't catch your name last time." He practically purred it out, flexing muscles in his chest as if he were a preening bird. Kyle would've blushed, if his heart had been in the exchange at all. If he weren't just going through the motions.

"Nothing like a little mystery to ramp up interest, right? I'm K—" He stopped, noticing someone watching him out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head, expecting to see Oliver.

He certainly _hadn't_ expected to see Schuyler Joplin turning away quickly, trying not to be noticed. That was... that was surprising. Also surprising—that angry red scrape along the length of his face.

"Kuh?" he heard Nick say with some confusion.

He realized he was still standing there with an open mouth. He summarily closed it, and then said, "Excuse me. I have to—I'm sorry." He gestured toward Schuyler and put on his most apologetic smile. Flirting with beefcakes just had to to wait a while.

Nick shrugged a shoulder and said, "Maybe later, Mystery Man," before wandering out toward the free weights.

Kyle approached Schuyler slowly, his hands in his pockets. He was sure it was only out of a sense of doctorly duty. Check the guy out, make sure he didn't need any medical help. That's all it was.

Finally up close, he could see a bruise starting to bloom under the nasty scrape. Schuyler dipped his head, looking at him almost... shyly. That was new.

"Hey," Schuyler said, still acting uncharacteristically embarrassed. Kyle swallowed hard, remembering that the last time he'd seen the guy, he'd been naked, and kissing him.

"Dude." Kyle waved a hand in front of Schuyler's face, trying to fend off his own unexplained nerves. "What happened to _you_?" Schuyler looked away, and it put a thought in Kyle's head. "That didn't happen when were, uh, y'know, fighting in the steam room the other day, did it?"

Schuyler shot him a pointed look, one that clearly said, _Who's the one pretending now?_ After what Kyle just did in front of Cristian and Oliver, the look carried more weight than Schuyler could have imagined.

So, yeah. Time to stop preteding.

"Did I say fighting?" Kyle scratched his chin. "I meant fornicating."

That earned him a grin. Schuyler leaned the unbruised side of his head against the wall. "I got this earlier, down at Rodi's, from my best pal Rex Balsom." His voice went high and whiny when he said the name, and it was such a perfect impersonation of the other man that Kyle couldn't help but laugh.

"Even your best pals can't resist clocking you, huh?"

Schuyler rolled his eyes. They looked a little glazed over. Maybe the injury was a little more serious than Kyle thought.

"Hey," he said, gesturing around the room. "I'm done here. You have some time? I think you should get that looked at."

"It's fine."

"You should see a doctor."

"It's fine," Schuyler repeated emphatically.

"Well, at least let _me_ take a look. I might not be your favorite person, but I'm pretty damn good at my job."

"What's that? Fixing lab results?"

"Gimme a break. If you're gonna get on my case, at least let it be for something I actually did."

Schuyler grinned. "Fair enough," he said, shrugging his assent.

Kyle looked around the room, then at his gym bag full of dirty clothes. "I don't have my stuff here. Let's go back to my place."

Raising an eyebrow, Schuyler said, "Are you propositioning me?"

A chuckle escaped. He couldn't help it. He wasn't really in the flirting mood, what with all the the crushing heartbreak, but damn it all if Schuyler didn't make for a good enough distraction.

"Let's just see where the medical exam takes us before you start fitting rings, okay?"

"Ass," Schuyler said.

"You want it so bad," Kyle replied with a grin.

Schuyler merely shook his head and rolled his eyes before following along after him.

The short walk back to the Angel Square Hotel was fraught with silence, but it wasn't so uncomfortable. It gave Kyle a chance to shut off his thoughts for once, just breathe in crisp air and look at the first hint of the changing color of the trees. His shoulder accidentally bumped against Schuyler's once or twice on the way, but it felt... kinda nice. Warm. The kind of warmth that came from intimacy.

It was strange.

But still okay, somehow.

God, it'd been too long since he'd let himself grow comfortable with another man. It was easy enough to have sex with the guy when they were both angry and riled up; why was a simple, quiet walk giving him so much thought?

They reached the hotel, entered the lobby, climbed the stairs to the second floor. Kyle stood in front of his door, feeling his palms grow sweaty.

"Well, here we are," he said nervously, as if Schuyler had just walked him home after their first date.

"Yeah, that's great Kyle. We going in, or what?"

That knocked some sense into Kyle. He rolled his eyes at himself, unlocked the door, and pushed in. He kept his room relatively clean, but he still eyed it warily, making sure there wasn't anything embarrassing lying around, like dirty underpants or moldy food containers. Satisfied with it, he moved aside and let Schuyler enter. He motioned for him to sit on the end of the bed while he grabbed a medicine bag out of the bureau.

"So, what exactly happened here, buddy?" he said, kneeling in front of Schuyler and dabbing his scraped cheek with antiseptic. "You insult Rex's hair? Because if he's anything like Roxy, that's a cardinal sin."

A small grin graced Schuyler's face, then faded. "I wish. He just... He gets a bit territorial with the girlfriend. Caught me hugging Gigi goodbye. As _friends_. Thought my face would look better with a brick wall smacked up against it, I guess."

Kyle squinted at him. He didn't realize Rex and Gigi were on again. He didn't _care_, but he also didn't realize.

"I thought you and Gigi were, y'know, together."

Schuyler looked at him like he was a mental patient. "_Why_ would you think that after the steam room?"

"Oh yeah." Kyle chuckled. "Good point."

"And what about you? How're things going with the cop?"

Kyle stopped dabbing. His tentative good mood suddenly dried up. "That's none of your business."

"Okay, okay." Schuyler lifted his hands in an _I-give-in_ gesture. "No need to get all surly about it. Just an innocent question."

Kyle regarded him for a moment, silent. An innocent question, or was he fishing for information? There was something in the way Schuyler's beady little eyes were nervously ticking back and forth... Like he was trying not to show how much he cared about the answer.

Interesting. And worth finding more about. Kyle decided to throw him a bone.

"Things aren't going." He took a deep breath and studied Schuyler's measured reaction. "With the cop, I mean." Tilting his head, he gave a friendly pat to Schuyler's knee. "Unlike you, he's actually got a girlfriend."

"Low blow, dude," Schuyler said. Which made the 12 year old in Kyle chuckle.

Kyle fished a pen light out of his pocket and flashed it in Schuyler's eyes. The pupils dilated as normal. Probably didn't have a concussion. "What year is it?" he asked, just to make sure.

"2009."

Kyle nodded, then continued on as if they hadn't been interrupted by routine medical procedure. "Anyway, there's nothing to do about it. He's not interested."

"But you are?" Schuyler looked him straight in the eyes. It made Kyle blink as sharply as if Schuyler had his own pen light shining on him.

It unnerved Kyle, to say the least.

"Okay. That's enough about my love life, doncha think?" Kyle said, bouncing to his feet. "I don't think you have a concussion, and the scrape looks fine. Make sure to keep it clean, so it doesn't get infected, okay?"

Schuyler stood as well. "Yeah, I know the drill. I used to be a med student."

"Really? I didn't know that. I just thought you were a professional meddler."

"And I just thought you were a blackmailer."

Kyle smiled. "Blackmailing is strictly a side-business."

Schuyler smiled back.

Carried away on a sudden flight of fancy, he imagined himself and Schuyler walking along a foggy tarmac, decked out in fedoras and trench coats. If he started calling him Louis, he was going to have his own head checked.

But still...

Maybe it _was_ the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

* * *

(...TBC...)


	3. Chapter 3: Experience, Part 1

**Chapter Three - Experience: Part 1

* * *

**

**Oliver**

Oliver Fish knew a thing or two about kissing girls.

He would've lost count ages ago, if he'd ever really been keeping count. But he'd never believed girls were conquests, those bedpost notches other guys crowed about. Still, he liked girls. Women. Liked the way they looked and felt and smelled. The way they dressed and talked and smiled. Who didn't like women, right? They were... awesome. Especially Layla. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever met. Sometimes he couldn't believe she would actually give him the time of day. But she liked him. The better him he was learning to be.

And all the physical stuff—the kissing, _the sex_, it was all pretty fantastic. Beyond fantastic. But it's not like it was anything new for him.

He wasn't trying to gloat, but the point was: He'd kissed _a lot_ of girls in his time.

That's why he knew you weren't supposed to be kissing one girl while dating another.

"What are you doing?" he said, gently nudging Stacy Morasco off him.

"What's it look like I'm doing, stupid?" She angled in for another kiss, but Oliver evaded.

"Stop it."

"Oh, come on, Oliver. Look at me." She gestured down her curvy body. "Don't tell me you're gonna turn this down. I'm giving myself to you on a frigging platter." She stood up on tip toes—which looked difficult in those four inch heels—and whispered in his ear, "And you can eat me up."

Oliver took a quick step back. "That's—that's all right. I'm not, um, hungry...?"

"You seemed pretty hungry last time."

"I—" Oliver swallowed. "I—I think I was drunk last time."

She crowded closer, eyes ablaze. "You've already opened the wine."

"I have a girlfriend!"

"Not a problem."

"Look," he said. "You seem like a nice girl." Well, not really. But it wouldn't help matters to point that out. "We had our chance. But it's over now. I don't—I don't love you."

Somehow, that had always been difficult to say. No matter how true it was.

"Love?" Stacy laughed. "Honey, love has _nothing_ to do with the things I'm gonna do to you."

Fingernails scraped up his neck, then circled around the rims of his ears.

"I remember how much you liked having your hair pulled..."

And then she was kissing him again, and tugging on his hair, and when she did that it reminded him so much of K—

"No!"

He grabbed her wrists and forced her hands away from his head.

_Layla. Think about Layla._ She was the only reason he wasn't taking Stacy up on her offer. They were in a committed relationship. The kind of relationship Oliver had always wanted. With a woman. And she was so forgiving. She'd taken him back, even after that disastrous night at the Go Red Ball. He was lucky. Sometimes when relationships went south, they went _really_ south. Like, Antarctica south.

But Layla must've understood why he went home with Stacy. Layla was ignoring him. Practically pretending like they'd never even gone out. Like she didn't want to be seen in public with him. Wouldn't even dance with him, not even once.

It had made him feel pretty crummy. So when Stacy came along—all fingernails and boobs and blue eyes—and noticed him? _Chose_ him? Well, he couldn't really be blamed for going home with her. But that whole thing never went anywhere, anyway. He and Stacy had different ideas about the relationship. Or, at least he thought they did. But here she was again, trying to get back into his pants.

"I'm sure you've had a long day," Stacy was saying. "I think you need a glass of wine." She reached around him for the bottle.

"I'm okay, really." He took a step behind the kitchen island. She followed, as stuck to him as his shadow.

"Here." She thrust a glass at him. Then proceeded to chase him around his apartment with the full glass in her talon-grip, wine sloshing over the rim and onto the floor. Oliver almost tripped over the couch in his retreat. Twice.

"Just drink the wine, Fish! I promise, it'll _relax_ you."

He definitely didn't like the ways her eyes gleamed when she said it.

"Leave me alone!" he cried out, feeling like a little boy in the schoolyard. "You crazy... crazy-person!"

"Just drink the wine, have your way with me, and then I'll leave you alone already. Jesus, Fish! What's a girl got to do?"

"You do remember I'm a cop, right?"

"I'll let you cuff me if you want."

Oliver's mouth dropped open. Stacy took that as invitation to fill it with her tongue.

And that's when he heard the door open.

"Oh my God. Oliver?"

**Kyle**

"Oh my God. Kyle!"

Kyle took a moment to admire Schuyler's bent form. He was rifling through one of the bottom drawers of the bureau. Looking for... something. But Kyle didn't really care if he ever found it. He was enjoying the view.

"I found it!"

"Found what?" Kyle asked from the couch.

"_Plan 9 From Outer Space_."

Kyle rolled his eyes. "I'm not even going to ask. It's obviously the head trauma talking."

Schuyler flicked his wrist and something hard and plastic thumped against Kyle's chest. He looked down at the DVD's black and white cover.

"Seriously?"

"It's great," Schuyler said, hopping onto the couch next to him.

Kyle pointed to the description on the back of the box. "It says here it's the worst movie ever made."

"And that's exactly what makes it great."

Kyle raised a skeptical eyebrow. Schuyler fidgeted, then flashed that little half-grin that was really starting to grow on him.

"You're the one who suggested we stay in and watch mindless movies."

"I did," Kyle said, nodding slowly. Though he didn't really know why he had. They'd been in Kyle's room taking pot shots at each other when the urge to settle in with a cold beer and a movie had struck him like a mack truck. He'd said as much to Schuyler, who had fiddled with something in his pocket for a minute then suggested they maybe go back to his room and hang out.

Which made Kyle feel like a college kid all over again. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. He hadn't really made it a habit lately to _hang out_ with any of his hookups. It was a slippery slope, and he didn't know if he wanted to take that first step. He knew it was a bad idea. He was lonely, still hurting from Oliver's latest rejection. It was all just a distraction, his mind's feeble attempts to boost his heart's battered hopes. And that wasn't fair. To anyone. He'd stepped one foot into Schuyler's suite and almost pivoted right back around.

But then Schuyler had bent over in his quest for bad films, and distractions were magically back on the evening's menu.

"So what makes this movie so great?" he said.

Schuyler shrugged. "I dunno. I guess I can relate."

Kyle glanced at the cover again. "To vampire women from Mars?"

"No," Schuyler said, laughing. It was kind of a pleasant sound. "No, I mean, the whole thing was such a huge disaster. Start to finish. But, well..." He gestured at the case. "Here it is, despite it all. It... survived."

"Yeah," Kyle said, pulling a loose thread on the arm of the couch. "I kinda get that." He slapped a hand on Schuyler's knee in commiseration, then quickly stood.

"What's up?" Schuyler asked.

"Nothing." _Liar_. He just didn't want to say, to put words to his nameless fears. That he felt like maybe they were getting a little too close. A little too personal. He wasn't against that, necessarily. It was just... new. "You got anything to drink? I could really use a beer."

"Ah." Schuyler frowned. "No beer. Sorry. There's soda in the fridge, I think."

Kyle set two sweating cans onto the coffee table while Schuyler set up the movie.

"No beer, huh?" he said over the film's Warning screen. "That because of, um..."

"Recovery? Yeah." Schuyler's voice was calm. Steady. Practiced. "No drugs, no alcohol."

"No fun," Kyle joked, and instantly wished he hadn't. But Schuyler laughed, and, oh, those dimples. How had he not noticed them before?

"Yep, that's me. Boring old Sky." He was still smiling at Kyle. "Frankly, I don't know why anyone puts up with me."

"It's always the boring ones that surprise you," Kyle said quietly.

Not that he was thinking of anyone in particular. Nope. That part of his life was done. Over. No more.

If he repeated it enough times, he was sure it would take. Not that four years of trying had made it any more true.

"So, worst movie ever, huh?" he said.

Sky smiled. "Yep."

They settled into silence, broken only by the sound of soda cans returning to wood. The movie started, and Kyle tried to pay attention at first, but he quickly lost his patience with the insipid dialogue and even worse acting. He distracted himself by taking in Sky's room instead. The walls were bare, save a few random graphics framed and hung in lonely corners. No photos. No sign of a family life to speak of.

He knew about Dr. Joplin, of course. For at least a week after the tragedy you couldn't walk down a hospital corridor without overhearing someone whisper about Leah and Starr Manning and the suicide. All hospital personnel were strongly encouraged to speak to a counselor about work-stress and their mental well-being. Kyle had been too busy to go. Not that he'd needed it. Back then, work was the only place he felt like himself. The only place he didn't feel... empty.

Schuyler chuckled at the TV, breaking Kyle out of his dark thoughts.

"Isn't this great?" he said.

Kyle stared at his face, at how relaxed he was. This messed up guy, drug addict, dead mother, ruined-career, could still find a reason to smile.

Maybe it was just stupidity. Or maybe it was hope.

Kyle rested his elbow along the back of the couch, just above Sky's shoulder, and shifted closer to him. He didn't know why—maybe just because he felt like it. His hand was so near to Sky's face, and the gap seemed to be shrinking. His thumb grazed Sky's smiling cheek, following along the path of his thin beard down to his jaw. He caressed the perimeter of Sky's bruised, scraped skin.

"Kyle—" Sky's eyes slammed shut and he sucked in a deep breath.

Kyle leaned forward. Just to get a closer look at the wound.

"What are you doing?" Sky asked, his voice hardly above a whisper. He turned his head; their eyes connected.

"Being a good doctor."

Sky grinned. "You already examined it."

"Second opinions are very important." Their faces inched closer. Kyle could feel Sky's warm breath on his skin.

"I don't think that's how second opinions work."

"No?"

"Uh-uh."

His lips. So close.

Kyle gave in and bridged the distance between them, capturing Sky's mouth in a soft kiss.

They kept it slow, an unhurried exploration. There was no rush this time, no pent-up anger, nothing but lips meeting and tongues tasting and the sweet sounds of shared breath. Their heads rocked a little faster. One of Sky's hands cupped his jaw, then moved down his neck. It ventured lower, found Kyle's chest, fingernails clawing at him through the fabric of his shirt. A nipple discovered, teased into hardness.

Kyle could take a hint.

He threw a leg over Schuyler, straddling him. The speed and desperation of their kisses ramped into a frenzy. Hands everywhere, tongues everywhere, shirt buttons fiddled and pulled and snapped clear off. Sky moaned out his name, and Kyle thought his dick was gonna jump so hard in his pants it might hurt someone.

He cupped Sky behind the head with one hand, keeping his mouth close, so close, while the other hand tugged at Sky's belt. It was halfway unfastened when Sky pulled back an inch, breathing deep. Kyle wouldn't let him get off that easy. He dove back in, nipped at those swollen lips while his hands resumed their graceless attack on his belt.

"Mmph. This is..." Sky said between kisses. "This is a really... mmm... really good part."

Kyle grinned. "Better be."

"The—_mm_—the movie."

He finally had the belt loose and jerked it out of the loops. "Please tell me what we're doing right now is better than this godawful movie."

Mischief flashed in Schuyler's eyes. "It's a close second?"

Kyle scoffed. "I—" He hooped the belt behind Sky's neck, fisting the ends together tightly with one hand. "—am seriously offended right now." His free hand moved down and massaged Sky's erection through his jeans. "Maybe I'll just take my ball—" He rubbed harder, eliciting a small whimper from Sky. "—and go home."

Sky pulled his face down kissed him hard. Desperate. Hungry. "Don't you dare."

"Then shut up about the movie already."

"Done."

Kyle tugged him closer with the belt. The movie played on in the background, completely ignored. Sky's hands coasted up and down his bare back, greedy, like they couldn't get enough of him.

_God_, it felt good to be wanted again.

And for the other guy to know his name.

Because he wasn't quite used to this. To being with someone he'd said more than fifteen words to before clothes came off. He knew Schuyler. They were almost... friends. He wasn't some stranger with broad shoulders and a forgettable face—a _replaceable_ face. When he closed his eyes and gave in to the feelings, he wasn't caught up in the desolate landscape of college memories. This wasn't some unsatisfying Oliver Fish stand-in. This was Schuyler Joplin. And he was Kyle Lewis.

And they both knew it.

* * *

(...TBC...)


	4. Chapter 4: Experience, Part 2

**Chapter Four - Experience: Part 2

* * *

**

**Schuyler**

One minute they were watching the movie. The next minute they were making out.

Funny how that kept happening.

Especially since he still wasn't even sure he liked the guy. But he knew how his pecker felt about the matter. And sometimes, that was enough.

There was something about Kyle. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. (He could put his finger lots of places, but that was another story.) There was something in those dark green eyes of his. They betrayed a deeper well, more depth to the man who practically held Gigi's son's life ransom for a big payday. A past, like his own, full of regrets and mistakes and disappointments.

Even when he smiled, the guy seemed a little sad.

The biggest mystery was why Schuyler found it so damn attractive.

Well, there was that, and the thing he was doing with his hips right now. _Holy Mother of Zeus_, that felt good. He cupped Kyle's ass and pulled him closer, needed that hardness closer. His experience with men was admittedly less than with women, but he remembered the perks pretty well, even if it'd been a while.

The feel of rough skin, the scrape of facial hair across his chin, his cheeks. Firm hands. Sure hands. Hands that knew absolutely what they were doing. Being able to let go, not holding anything back. Knowing that he didn't have to play the protector, the strong one, all the time.

One of those rugged, sure-fisted hands slipped into his pants, gave him a tug, let him know that there was a man on top of him who was very serious about getting him off.

And, yeah. The fact that Kyle felt _nothing_ like Gigi was a factor here too. He wasn't going to deny it. Not to himself, anyway.

Admitting it was the first step, and all that.

"You enjoying that?" Kyle breathed out, his voice husky and deep and dark with amusement. Combining that with the hand in his pants, Schuyler really didn't have the wherewithal to respond, so he answered with a thrust against Kyle's palm, pulled his head down, kissed him harder.

Hot breath filled his mouth. Kyle was laughing, the kind of sanity-abandoned laugh of a man throwing caution out of an airplane without a parachute. Schuyler was intimately familiar with that kind of laugh.

His hands moved down Kyle's jaw, his neck, his collar bone, and his mouth followed obediently. Soft moans—no, they were more like contented purrs—urged him on. When his fingers reached Kyle's waist, they dug in, tugged up, encouraged Kyle to lift himself into a kneel. Schuyler's teeth nipped at the soft skin circling Kyle's navel. When his chin brushed against the stiff fabric of khaki pants, he opened his eyes.

Face to waistband. This was it.

_Come on, Joplin. Not like you've never done it before._

He'd wanted to do it in the steam room. Mostly to get the upper hand in their strange power play. To put Kyle at his mercy. He hadn't gone for it, though. But here? Now? He didn't want to let another opportunity slip away. The chance to make Kyle putty in his hands. (His mouth. Whatever.)

But not out of their old game of one-upsmanship. But because he wanted to. Because Kyle was hot and he would be even hotter all undone and helpless like that.

He palmed Kyle through his pants, enjoying the sound of Kyle's strained breath. He closed his eyes for a moment, and that's when the feeling hit him. That old feeling of desperation. Feeling high. Out of control.

_"Supply and demand, Joplin. I got the supply, I make the demands."_

He paused, shook his head, then refocused on the task at hand. His fingers slipped on the button. He couldn't find purchase.

_"So I don't give a shit if you're broke."_

The zipper. That would be easier. He could come back to the button.

_"I always get paid."_

He had the pants loose now, pushed them down, took the band of Kyle's boxers with them. His erection bobbed up and down in its sudden freedom. Kyle had one hand one the back of the couch, steadying himself. The other stroked Schuyler's cheek, his jaw, behind his ear. Softly—so softly. Urging him on.

_"But maybe... I can make an exception for you."_

He could do it. He'd done it before. Not always sober. But sometimes.

_"Anything. I'll do anything, man."_

Schuyler closed a fist around the base. Kyle grunted and jerked his hips forward slightly. The hand had moved to the back of his head, encouraging him. Schuyler licked his lips, leaned down, opened his mouth—

_"Get on your knees..."_

—and pulled back. He breathed deep through his nose. That familiar smell. Like a switch, it flipped on his memories, memories from a darker time. When he'd do anything to feed his addiction.

God. He'd never be free of the drugs.

Kyle's hand was back on his cheek, a finger curling under his chin, lifting his face. Schuyler fought it, didn't want to look him in the eye right now.

"Hey," Kyle said softly. "Do you need me to make airplane noises?"

Schuyler blinked. And then unexpected laughter sprang from his throat, easing the tension that had stricken his body immobile.

He fell back against the sofa and covered his face with his hands. "I'm sorry man."

He heard the sound of a zipper, along with an uncomfortable grunt. "Last time—I thought you said—"

"I did."

"But you've never...?" The sofa groaned under the weight of Kyle's body as he returned to his place next to Schuyler.

"I—I have. It's just... it's been a while." And so much more than that.

A sigh, and then a hand was on his shoulder, patting him. "That's okay."

"I can do this."

"Hey, don't. Not if you don't want to."

Schuyler dropped his hands. Kyle was looking at him with an inscrutable stare. It wasn't exactly pity, but it wasn't disappointment, either. Regret, maybe, tinged with a bit of curiosity. Followed by a grimace as he adjusted his pants into a more comfortable position.

"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," Schuyler said, feeling guilty, and a little stupid. They had moved too fast. He wasn't in any sort of place to make decisions like this. He should have known better. How many times had he warned a patient at the rehab clinic about fighting their base impulses? Especially when they were in a highly emotional state?

"Yeah," Kyle said, staring down at his hands. "Maybe not." He handed Schuyler his discarded shirt, then reached for his own.

"I, uh," Schuyler began, wanting to explain himself, "I had to say goodbye to someone really important to me today, and I think it's just... maybe now's not the right time. For this." He wagged a finger between them. It was almost the whole truth.

"I get that," Kyle sighed.

"You do?"

"Yep."

Schuyler had never heard so much... melancholy drip out of one measly syllable. Kyle looked down at the floor, apparently lost in thought. Silence shrouded the room. It wasn't until Schuyler cleared his throat that he realized how much nervous energy was in the air, thickening it, sending off little twitches along his arms.

"So..." he said, not knowing what words came next.

"I need a drink," Kyle said. He leaned back and ran a hand through his hair.

"Come on." Schuyler hopped to his feet. "I'll buy." Kyle stared at him with raised eyebrows. "Just soda for me," he said. "I swear."

Rodi's was the closest bar to the hotel, and the situation demanded convenience. If he had any luck at all—which he was seriously starting to doubt—there had been a shift-change since the afternoon. He'd had his fill of awkward run-ins for one lifetime, much less one day, thank you very much. And as expert was the care Kyle had given him, he really didn't feel like getting pounded in the face again by any jealous boyfriends.

**Oliver**

Layla slammed her purse onto the sofa. "What is going on here, Oliver?"

Oliver plucked Stacy off of him. The popping sound their lips made as they came apart sent a sting of embarrassment up his spine. He tried to move around her, but she clung to his side like a barnacle. A really infuriating barnacle, if the look on Layla's face was any measure.

Cris stood behind her, his arms crossed over his chest, doing the perfect impersonation of a smug gargoyle who thought he knew everything.

"This isn't what it looks like!" Oliver said, hands raised. Stacy's entwined arm moved with his. "Get off me." He nudged her again, but she was immovable. Stronger than she looked for such a small nothing of a girl.

"I can't believe you," Layla growled. Oliver opened his mouth, an explanation quick on his lips, when she turned suddenly and punched Cris in the shoulder. Cris winced, his mouth forming an offended _"Ow!"_ as his eyes bulged out in surprise. "All that cryptic double-talk tonight... Why'd you make it sound like he was up to something shady with that Kyle guy? Did you know he was cheating on me?" She punched Cris again. "And you didn't say anthing?"

"Woah! Cheating?" Oliver cut in. "No, I wasn't—she forced herself on me! Stacy..." He gestured at her helplessly. "Tell them."

Stacy sidled in closer and sipped from her wine glass. "Tell them what, honey?"

"_Grrrrr!_" Oliver tore the glass out of her hand and forcibly removed her from his side. "Stop it! All of you. Just... shut up for a second! I can explain."

Three wide-mouthed faces turned toward him. But they were silent, and that was enough.

"Layla, I'm not cheating on you. Stacy came on to me, and I turned her down."

"Is that what you call it?" Layla muttered under her breath. Oliver shushed her with a single look. Which was a skill he never realized he possessed.

"I turned her down. But she came at me again. And that's when you came in. Stacy," Oliver said, turning toward his assailant, "please don't kiss me again. And, you, Cristian..." Cris looked at him with a defiant expression. "Don't talk crap about me behind my back to my girlfriend. That's... that's really not cool."

Cris had the good grace to appear slightly ashamed of himself. For at least half a second. And then his brow straightened and his eyes turned into little dark beads.

"Hey man, I'm sorry if it pisses you off. I just think Layla needs to know _the truth_."

Oliver couldn't help but roll his eyes. He thought this was behind them. He thought Kyle's little speech in the locker room had cleared everything up. Apparently not.

"You need to tell her, Fish."

"Tell me what?" Layla demanded.

"There's nothing to tell!" Oliver said, his frustrations mounting. He turned away from his interrogators. That's when he remembered Stacy. She sat on one of the bar stools, wine glass in hand, and kicked her feet out, taking in the scene with an amused glint in her eyes. Grinning like the cat who molested the canary.

"I dunno," Cris said. "I think she'd like to know the reason you're always a little slow to stop kissing... people who aren't your girlfriend."

"It's not my fault people keep throwing themselves on me!"

Layla's eyes narrowed, laser-like. "_People?_"

"What?" Oliver said, taking a small step back.

"As in, more than one?"

"N—no! Of course not!"

"Who else has been kissing you, Oliver?"

He glanced at Cristian, hoping against hope he'd keep his big mouth shut. At least the guy didn't look pleased with himself. He had the decency to open this stupid can of worms and wallow in the discomfort with the rest of them.

"Layla, come on," he said, pleading with her. "You know me. I wouldn't. I wouldn't ever do something like that to you."

She sighed, her body language softening. He was finally getting to her. Until Stacy decided to stick her skinny little nose back in it.

"Hey. Remember me, hot stuff? Valentine's Day? Ringing any bells? Because I remember ringing yours that night..."

"Shut up, Stacy," he and Layla said together. Oliver grinned; it felt good being on the same page again, even for just a tiny moment.

Stacy hopped off the stool with a pout. "Fine. Whatever." She chugged the last of her wine and grabbed her purse off the coffee table. "Oliver, when you're done being such a drip, give me a call, okay?" She blew him a kiss. "Bye, darling."

The door closed behind her, followed by a painfully long silence.

"Layla—"

She lifted a hand to silence him. Then, like Stacy, she fetched her purse and slammed the door behind her. Cris let out a whistle of surprise. Oliver fought the urge to punch him in the face.

"Some friend you are," he said instead, and then he was out the door, chasing after his upset girlfriend.

He tried Capricorn first, then the diner, then the station. No sign of her. He was tempted to patch into the traffic camera feeds and track down her movements, but who knew how long it would take to find her that way. Not to mention the kind of trouble he could get into with the brass. He was about to give up and head home when he walked past the blaring neon sign for Rodi's.

It wasn't her favorite place, but what the hell. He had to look.

Through the opaque glass, he could make out the cloudy forms of a big crowd. He saw familiar red hair at the bar; the Commissioner's niece stood with her husband, having what looked like an important conversation with the bartender.

Just over her shoulder... was that? Yes. He recognized that jet-black hair, the wildly patterned dress straps. Layla. He turned the corner of the entryway, ready to beg and plead and do whatever it took to get her to understand, to forgive him. He needed her.

He was two steps into the main room when he slammed against someone's shoulder. He was about to turn and apologize, but then he recognized his human-shaped roadblock. _Joplin._ And that probably meant...Yep.

Kyle. Staring at him with surprise and confusion. Oh, how that face haunted his dreams.

"Watch where you're going," Oliver ground out, muscling Schuyler out of his way. Maybe a little bit rougher than he needed to.

Schuyler grabbed onto his arm, probably out of reflex. "Hey, take it easy, man. You ran into me."

"I am _really_ not in the mood right now—"

"Hey," Kyle spoke up, placing his hand over Schuyler's. Oliver could feel its familiar warmth through the fabric of his shirt as a stray finger brushed against his sleeve. "Sky. Come on. Let's go. I'll get the drinks. You get us some seats, yeah?"

"Yeah, okay."

Kyle stayed with Oliver a moment, hand still on his arm, and spoke quietly. "Are you gonna cause trouble?"

"Get over yourself, Kyle," Oliver scoffed. "I'm just here for my girlfriend." He pointed to the bar, and Kyle gave him that look, the one he'd become pretty familiar with over the past few months. No matter how hard he fought it, it always made something trip in his chest.

_God, that look_. That vulnerable, wounded-animal look. No one had it down quite like Kyle.

"Right," Kyle said with a sniff. "What was I thinking? You don't give a crap about me. I got it, Fish." He shouldered his way past Oliver and made a beeline to the bar, placing himself directly next to Layla. Deliberately, Oliver was sure.

He hung back in the crowd until Kyle wandered to a back couch and sat next to his... his whatever. Schuyler.

He took a deep breath, then gathered his courage and strode up to Layla.

"Layla. Hey." She looked up at him with tired eyes. "Can we—can we talk? Please?"

"Not right now, Fish. I don't wanna talk about it." She threw a ten dollar bill on the bar then walked past him, toward the exit.

"Layla. Layla, wait!" He laid a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged out from underneath it. "I know it looked bad, but I wasn't lying back there. Stacy... she totally jumped me. I told her, over and over again, that I wasn't interested. That I was with you. But she wouldn't listen. And Cristian... you know he's jealous, right? He doesn't want you and me to be together."

Layla raised an eyebrow.

"I would never hurt you that way. I promise." Promises didn't come easy to him; he only made them when he absolutely believed them. "You trust me, right?"

She sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. "Yeah, I do. But—"

"That's great! Layla, thank you so—"

"Let me finish?"

He nodded, eager to put this whole stupid thing behind them.

"Can you just... give me some space tonight?" She backed away, her crossed arms raised to her shoulders, creating a shield over her chest. "I mean, I've heard what Stacy is like, and I... I trust you not to cheat on me. You're not like Vincent." Her voice was thick, the words heavy. He could hear the emotion in them. "But it's still hard for me. I can't just forget what that was like, finding out I'd been lied to for so long by someone I trusted. I know it's not fair, putting all that on you. But I'll get over it... if you're willing to wait it out. I just—I need some space tonight. You understand, right?"

"Should I..." He swallowed. He felt like all the air had been punched out of his gut. "Should I find someplace else to sleep tonight? Like a hotel?" Except the only one he could afford was the Angel Square Hotel. The idea swirled in his mouth like a bad taste. He glanced toward the back of the room, then back to Layla.

"You don't have to do that. I'll, um... I'll see you at work tomorrow, okay?"

He took a step toward her. "_Are_ we?"

"Are we what?"

"...Okay?"

She smiled, but it looked a little sad. "Ask me again in the morning."

He watched, immobile, as she retreated behind a crowd of happy drinkers milling about the juke box. He slumped down onto a bar stool, ordered something strong—he didn't even know what—and swallowed it down. Then another. And one more for luck, as his dad used to say. His head made an unpleasant thumping noise as it hit the bar.

His life was stumbling out of control, and there was nothing he could do about it. All he wanted was something simple, something to be proud of, a good woman who loved him, and he could love back, but fate kept striking him down. And what had he done to deserve failure after failure? _Nothing._ He was a stand-up guy. He lived his life with honor and respect. He recycled. He spent his days saving lives, for God's sake.

But it was like the universe was laughing at him.

And then there was Kyle. Sitting in the back corner with that... that idiot. Schuyler Joplin. What a stupid name. And—and dumb hair.

Did they have to rub it in like that? Smiling. Laughing. Looking as happy as clams in high water. And what had they done to deserve it? Oliver had done his homework on Joplin. He knew all about his inappropriate relationship with Starr Manning. Not to mention all the rumors floating around about his drug habit. Sure Kyle had done some dumb stuff lately, but what was he doing with a lowlife creep like that? _He should be with m—_

_With someone better._

Oliver didn't like it. It was bad news. For the citizens of Llanview, he meant. Because the two of them, together? Who knew what kind of immoral—maybe even illegal—crap they'd get up to.

He'd have to keep an eye on them. It was only right. Another civic service he could tack on to his Good Karma scale.

He ordered another shot and watched them out of the corner of his eye.

Every time Kyle smiled at Schuyler, it sent razors across Oliver's stomach.

* * *

(...TBC...)


	5. Chapter 5: Bad Habits

**Chapter Five - Bad Habits**

* * *

**Schuyler**

That night at Rodi's, he'd told Kyle they should take things slow, whatever _'things'_turned out to be. Kyle had agreed. Schuyler had definitely meant it, too.

At the time.

It had seemed like the right choice.

At the time.

Now he was thinking: Maybe not so much. Because all it had managed to do was trap Kyle under his skin. An itch he couldn't quite scratch. Every time he walked up the stairs of the ASH, every time he turned a corner, every time he closed his eyes... he thought about him. And it was damn annoying.

He tried throwing himself into his work, and it was a good distraction, at least during business hours. But as soon as that metaphorical steam whistle blew, he was all hot and bothered again.

Kyle was pretty much the first thing on his mind in the mornings, and the last thing he pictured at night. Plenty of evenings had been spent remembering their heated encounter in the steam room. God, how he'd hated Kyle then. Didn't make the experience any less satisfying. In fact, it had bettered his enjoyment. And reliving it with nothing but himself as a companion was not getting the job done.

If only he had gotten Kyle out of his system when he'd had the chance, then and there, on his couch with Ed Wood as a completely non-sexy but vaguely appropriate backdrop, this wouldn't have been a problem. He shouldn't have balked. Stupid, rookie mistake.

Now he was pinned under thoughts he couldn't control, helpless, and he _hated_the feeling.

It wasn't anything personal, though. He knew his mind's own traps. His own failings. It was all just a little too much like when he'd been consumed in the guilt of his mother's failings, caused mostly by his own stupid mistakes, and how that got all wrapped up with Starr Manning and wanting to right his mother's wrongs to somehow right his own wrongs and screwing it all up in the worst possible way like he probably should have known he would.

And always, in the back of his head, gnawing away like a starved monkey, was Vegas.

"Hey."

Schuyler jumped out of his chair at the sound Rachel's concerned voiced.

"What are you still doing here?" she asked. "Didn't your shift end—" She checked her watch. "—an hour ago?"

"Hmm?" If he looked as stupid as he sounded, he was in trouble.

"Uh oh," Rachel said, in _that voice_ that _knew things_and was just unfair all around for the rest of the human race.

"What?"

"You're obsessing."

"Am... _not_." Good lord. He'd forgotten language.

"You, young man, need to get that girl out of your head." She walked over and playfully flicked him on the temple.

Sky opened his mouth to protest, but it just stayed there, a big, gaping hole in his head. "Oh. Um. Yeah. Gigi. Totally. Any, uh, suggestions?"

"You're in a rehab center, Sky. Pick a wall. You're sure to find some useful information on it somewhere."

"It's not like that," he said, a little too quickly. How to explain, without giving anything away? "It's more like... like chewing on your nails. You don't even know you're doing it, but you can't stop."

"Wow. Romantic. No wonder you're so happily in love."

"Shut up," he laughed. "And what about you and your overcrowded love life, hmm?"

He wasn't sure if his blatant attempt at changing the subject would work this time. It hardly ever had in the past. But Rachel just sighed, and sat miserably in his recently vacated chair.

"You wanna tell me all about it?" he asked, taking a seat on the couch. She looked up at him with a wry smile and warm, grateful eyes.

* * *

Talking with Rachel had been good. He'd been able to focus on something other than his own problems. It was like an extension of work, but without all the pressure of feeling like he could fail a fragile, messed up kid like Cole Thornhart or those like him at any moment.

But once they were down on the street and she walked away with a wave of the hand and a short goodbye, Sky was stuck again. Nowhere to go but home (where just the sight of his couch made him freeze in his tracks), nothing to do but think (and think about the man who'd been on his couch), and no one to talk to (why hadn't he made more friends in this town?).

The night was almost-warm and very balmy, and the walk back to the ASH a little too short. He climbed the stairs and stared at his door. The hallway was empty. No footsteps, no ambient noises at all. His eye caught the shiny reflection of the gold _15_just down the hall.

_Stop it._

But he hesitated outside his door. Glanced down the hall again. If he didn't know better, he'd say he was waiting for something. Or someone. But he did know better. And that was totally not what he was doing. He was just spacing out for a little bit, but not in a druggy sort of way. In a it's-been-a-long-day-and-I'm-tired sort of way.

Except he wasn't all that tired. Physically, anyway. His heels were actually... Yep. They were _bouncing._

"God... damn it," he muttered to himself before quickly storming down the hall. He stopped in front of Kyle's door, then remembered himself. It was a very short walk back to his own door, the key slipped in nice and easy, the door swung open on what seemed like newly oiled hinges. At last. He was home. Home sweet home. Couch sweet couch.

No sooner had his rear end hit the cushions than he sprang right back up, flew out the door, down the hall, and was in front of room 15 again. There was a rushing sound, like the loud thumping of music in his head, or maybe it was just the beat of his heart pounding in time with his fist on the door.

He hoped like hell Kyle wasn't home and this madness would pass before anyone was the wiser.

The door opened. Kyle looked at him with a lazy sort of stunned expression.

"Schuyler?"

"Hey," Sky said, still bouncing. "Can we talk?"

"Sure," Kyle said, gesturing him in. And then—_oh, the bastard_—then he smiled a lovely, sweet, un-Kyle-ish smile that completely melted Sky's resolve and talking became the very last thing he wanted to do.

"What's u—?" Kyle didn't get the chance to finish because Schuyler was all over him. Hands in his hair, tongue invading his mouth, teeth bumping, fingers grabbing wildly at fabric. It was madness, pure madness, and he smiled like a maniac when Kyle kissed him back and started tugging his clothes off too.

"Slow wasn't doing it for you, then?" Kyle murmured.

"Either is talking," Sky said, then attacked his mouth again. Which was kind of a lie, because that super low, purring quality to Kyle's voice hadn't gone unappreciated.

It was an ungraceful undressing and tussle to the bed, fueled by lust and desperation on Sky's part. And on Kyle's? Well, Sky wasn't quite sure. Kyle kissed him back as fiercely, was just as desperate to unbuckle Sky's belt as he was Kyle's, but had he been plagued by the same constant thoughts, the overwhelming hunger, the uncontrollable _need_that had taken hold of Sky over the past week? Or was this just a lark? A challenge? Or worse, nothing more than loneliness consumed by the nearest body of warmth?

Sky broke from the kiss, breathing hard. His hands still gripped the waistband of Kyle's pants. He kept his chin down and stared at the floor, trying to reign in his wild thoughts, gather control of himself again, maybe salvage whatever was left of his dignity and his sanity...

Kyle touched him softly on the cheek, urging him to look up.

He didn't expect to see warmth staring back at him. Confusion, yes, that was there too, and entirely predictable, but it was wrapped in a cloud of concern.

Sky shook his head because words escaped him and Kyle frowned but that wasn't what he meant at all so he used his lips to communicate that _yes, this is what I want, don't mind me and my neuroses_, and pressed them against Kyle's once more. This time a little less recklessly. With a little more meaning to match Kyle's own.

Fingers found their way to clothes again, and clothes found their way to the floor. Sky's back hit the mattress and he pushed himself back until his head reached the pillow and brought Kyle along with him.

This was a new kind of madness, just as urgent but not as distressing. He didn't like Kyle any greater than he had this morning, but it felt damn good to run his fingers up his warm side and to have that insistent mouth pull so temptingly against his. It was the frenzied emotions of the steam room combined with the slow-building familiarity of their go on his couch. Kyle was starting to feel... comfortable to him, his breaths and the feel of his skin and the way he would hang on to a kiss just an extra millisecond longer than expected.

Sky didn't know if he was ready to feel that kind of comfort with Kyle, of all people, but he didn't care anymore. All that mattered was that there was still fabric between them that needed to get gone fast. He started wriggling out of his underpants and Kyle's hand pushed under the waistband, helping them along. He was already hard and the touch of Kyle's fingers against his thigh sent even more blood pumping south. When Kyle's mouth descended his chest, his stomach, his pelvis, Sky's eyelids fluttered open and closed.

Kyle was clearly on a mission because he didn't waste any time getting to the main attraction. He kissed and sucked at the skin all along the shaft, finding and teasing a particularly sensitive vein on the underside. Sky made a noise then that surprised himself. It was the sigh of a man truly content, a bluebird on his shoulder as he sits with his back against a shade-tree. It must have surprised Kyle, too, because he stopped for a moment and glanced up with those dark, devilish eyes.

There was a smirk on his lips and victory in his gaze. "Let me show you how it's done." He wasn't even sure if Kyle had actually said it, but it didn't matter. It was written plain across his Cheshire-grinned face before he descended once more.

Sky let his head fall back and breathed out an unbelieving laugh.

That smug, cocksure bastard. They were still competing.

But, really, he'd sooner marry Rex then complain about a blowjob from someone who was clearly—"Fuck... fucking... yes."—_clearly_skilled at the task. Sky's eyes rolled back in his head and he reached behind him to grip the headboard or a pillow or anything at all it didn't matter nothing mattered not even breathing jesuschristsogood why hadn't they been doing this forever?

His thoughts tumbled all together and he gave up trying to separate them because Kyle was between his legs and his lips and tongue and fist were doing incredibly amazing things and thinking was not important to the proceedings at all.

Kyle worked him and worked him and worked him until he was ready to admit that Kyle had bested him. Fuck—he was halfway to admitting that Kyle had bested the whole damn world at giving head.

And it was enough to finally snap some sense back into his head—the one he used for thinking.

It would be so easy to give in and hand over the victory, but he wasn't gonna let that happen.

Kyle may have thought he won this round, but Sky still had his ace in the hole.

...So to speak.

* * *

**Kyle**

Kyle wasn't sure what was happening or why when Schuyler pulled away from him and started scooting further up the bed. It was probably better to just go with the flow as far as Schuyler was concerned. The guy had serious impulse control problems, which had led to some unpleasant and _very_pleasant confrontations in the past.

He watched, just a little bit dumbfounded, as Schuyler knelt at the top of the bed, his back to Kyle, exposing the long, tanned expanse of his body and perfectly shaped rear end.

"What are you—?"

"Do you have what we need?" Schuyler asked.

"What we need?" He knew he sounded like the village idiot, but Schuyler had caught him a little off guard.

"What we need if you're gonna fuck me right now."

Okay. _A lot_off guard. A noise came from Kyle's throat—or deeper than that, really; probably more like his stomach—that put a cagey smile on Schuyler's face.

He had to admit though, as all the blood rushed from everywhere to throw a kickass party downstairs, that he really liked this side of Schuyler. Not just the backside, but the hidden pushy bottom he'd apparently been keeping under wraps this whole time.

Plus, he needed this after the shitty day he'd had, and all the shitty news it'd brought with it. As he reached for the lube and condoms from his bedside drawer, he shoved the letter from LU—topped with the med school's dean's office letterhead—into the drawer in its place. Out of sight, out of mind.

With Schuyler impatiently waiting for him, he pushed away all of the day's defeats. It was something of a vice he'd fallen into over the years, he knew, but when the opportunity arose to smother the disappointments of the Pathetic Life of Kyle Lewis with some sweaty, hot sex, who was he to say no?

Some small part of him, quiet yet still annoying, whispered in his ear that it was... different with Schuyler somehow.

He thought back to their last encounter, how Schuyler had pulled away, almost as if he were scared.

He crawled up behind Schuyler and pressed an open-mouthed kiss on his shoulder.

"You don't have anything to prove to me, you know," he said.

"I know, Kyle."

"You're sure you want to...?"

Why the fuck was he trying to talk Schuyler out of this? Luckily, Schuyler saved him from his own sabotage.

"Told you," he breathed out, eying Kyle over shoulder with that same secretive smile. "Not my first time."

The deep dark blackness of his eyes and the wanton look in them snuffed out the sabotage right quick.

"We both know you're not some white knight," Schuyler continued lowly, "so you can quit acting like one. Now stop wasting my time before I put my clothes back on and walk out of here."

Fine then. Schuyler thought he was in charge here? That he was ready for everything Kyle could give him? Well, Kyle would give it to him all right, and leave him begging for more when it was all done.

He started slow, though, easing in to Schuyler and keeping a slow pace that would hold them both off for a while. Schuyler gripped the headboard with his hands and made appreciative noises, little grunts and words of encouragement, demanding Kyle "get to it already" and speed up or push in harder. But Kyle kept his pace steady. He reached forward and covered one of Schuyler's hands with his own, locking their fingers tight, while his other arm gripped Schuyler around the waist, holding their bodies close as he just barely pumped in and out.

On one unexpected and intense upward thrust, Schuyler let out a short gasp of pain. Kyle eased back gently and his hand drifted down to Schuyler's still-hard erection, giving it a few sure-fisted tugs to help distract from any lingering discomfort. Schuyler looked back at him with something like astonishment in his eyes. Almost like he had been expecting a further barrage of pain, rather than added pleasure.

Stacy must have done some real numbers on the guy.

He worked Schuyler's erection in a steady pumping motion, just slightly off the rhythm of his thrusts. Schuyler's breaths deepened and his gasps turned into low, growly moans. Kyle worked him until he felt Schuyler was close, very, very close, then abruptly stopped. Both his hand and his hips. Schuyler _whimpered_, much to Kyle's delight. He knew he could get him to beg.

But Kyle wasn't done with him yet.

In one swift action he had them flipped over on the mattress. Schuyler buried a groan into the sheets as Kyle buried himself deeper into Schuyler.

They switched positions a few more times, always at the moment just before Schuyler's imminent release. With each new angle Schuyler made a noise somewhere in between a moan and a delighted gasp, which convinced Kyle that Stacy hadn't been all that creative with her toy.

Kyle sat with his back propped against the pillows, Schuyler sitting on his lap away from him, allowing Schuyler to finally control the pace of their lovemaking. For at least a little while, anyway. Schuyler took advantage of it, bouncing on Kyle like he was the world's sexiest trampoline.

But Kyle was still in control. He maneuvered them once again. This time he lay on his back, Schuyler's stretched full across him, back-to-chest. Kyle kept both arms gripped securely around Schuyler's torso, pinning their upper bodies together while their lower halves bucked up off the mattress with reckless abandon. Judging by Schuyler's increasingly higher pitched groans, he liked this arrangement best so far. Kyle wasn't about to give him he wanted, though. Not yet. But soon. He moved them one last time, limbs bumping and lips meeting in a clumsy, lust-filled haze.

They ended up face to face, Schuyler on his back, his legs curled up behind Kyle. Which Kyle liked a lot, because it afforded easier access to Schuyler's mouth. He enjoyed kissing in general, and kissing Schuyler in particular. Something about his unrestrained, almost angry desperation was enticing beyond belief. That someone could be so desperate for _him_, again, after all these years, heated him up all over, made him thrust in harder, faster—finally—with a desperation to match Schuyler's own. He felt Schuyler's toes curl behind him, heard the hitching in his breath, knew he had found the right spot, knew Schuyler was oh so close to coming undone beneath him. He didn't stop this time.

Release came swift and hard. Schuyler's mouth opened wide and his eyes rolled back. Kyle leaned in and kissed his open mouth through his climax, tasting those warm gasps like honey on his tongue. Schuyler grabbed him roughly by the face, kissing him hard. He bit down on Kyle's lower lip, and it was enough to send Kyle crashing over the edge too.

Everything blurred out. For a few precious moments he was no longer Pathetic Kyle Lewis, blackmailer and former med student. He was Just Kyle, just a man who had satisfied another man to the point of silly, blissful looking grins. It had been so long since he'd felt that way. He liked being Just Kyle again for those few moments of afterglow. He liked it more than he could possibly say.

"Kyle..." Schuyler murmured, sounding half-asleep. Or just thoroughly, masterfully fulfilled.

"So," Kyle said, grinning; "on a scale of One to Stacy, where do I stack up?"

"Shut up," Schuyler chuckled.

"What? I really want to know."

"You already know, you smug bastard." Said almost like a coo.

"Yeah," Kyle agreed. "I kicked her ass."

Schuyler laughed a pretty amazing laugh and then he was on top of Kyle and they were kissing again.

There was something soft in Schuyler's kisses now, something vulnerable and sweet. Kyle thought he understood. Here was a man like him, lost and little bit broken and rejected by life. Both with past mistakes and ruined careers. Not quite knowing where they belonged. No family. Uncertain futures.

There was a connection forming, and he wasn't quite sure he wanted it. The last time he'd felt this way, on the precipice of something new and frightening and exhilarating, had been with Oliver. And lord knew that had not ended well. A total crushing defeat, more like. He never wanted to go through that again. Letting someone in and watching helplessly as they walked away with a bleeding chunk of his heart.

Not that he was in love with Schuyler.

But he was in very serious danger of growing attached to him.

* * *

**Schuyler**

"You're staring," Schuyler said. They were lying side by side in bed. The room was warm and dewy and it felt kind of great. "Do I have something on my face?"

"No, no. Nothing." Was Kyle blushing? "Sorry. Bad habit, I guess." The smallest of grins curled his lips.

Sky didn't actually mind. He was staring every bit as much as Kyle. Not that he'd admit as much.

"So... what's your deal, Schuyler?" Kyle said.

"My deal?"

"I mean, you obviously have no problem sleeping with men." He gestured casually between them.

"Obviously."

"And you've been with women."

"So?"

"So... I mean, do the women know? Does anyone know?"

"Stacy knows." So did a few other unsavory types from his old life.

"Does her sister know?"

A long silence settled between them, broken only by Kyle's good-natured scoff.

"I'm taking that as a no."

"It... never came up."

Kyle smirked. "I'll bet."

"I don't go around advertising it. But I don't exactly lie about it, either."

"Hmm."

Kyle had that distant look in his eyes again. The one that Sky was pretty sure he was starting to dislike. A lot. He'd figured out what it meant. What Kyle was thinking about. _Who_Kyle was thinking about. He still wasn't sure how much he liked Kyle, but he knew he liked Silent-Pining-Kyle less than the rest of him.

"So what's _your_deal, Kyle?" He nudged Kyle with a knee. It seemed to break the spell because Kyle was grinning again.

"You mean, how did I get to be such an amazing catch you can't keep your hands off of?"

Sky looked down and noticed with slight disturbance that he was indeed stroking Kyle's arm absently. He didn't stop, though. But he still felt the need to sting back.

"That, or, you know, the whole criminal rap sheet thing."

Kyle sighed, looking annoyed a few moments before sobering. "You know I was serious, right? That if Shane ever got sick again, I'd help in any way I could?"

"For a price."

"Whatever, man." He moved to get up, but Sky's hand landed strong on his arm, stopping him. Which was kind of a rascally thing for his hand to do without his permission like that.

"Hey, wait. I..." He considered his words, then settled on the truth. "I believe you."

"Look, I'm sorry. All I have are apologies, okay? I know I hurt people. I was desperate. I had no place to live, no money, no future... Not that I have one now, either."

"I thought you were in med school."

Kyle's mouth tensed. "Found out earlier. Got a letter from the dean's office. Disciplinary Probation. Indefinite, as far as I can tell. Not that I could afford tuition anyway, but still." He turned toward Sky and propped himself up on an elbow. "You know what's really messed up? Jessica Brennan, the woman who let me remind you _stole a baby_, and the people who helped her cover it up? They got off scot-free. Not even a slap on the wrist. Because they're Buchanans. Because they're _important_," he sneered.

Schuyler didn't offer him anything. No consolation or commiseration for his past misdeeds or the unfairness of Llanview's special brand of classism and nepotism—even if he felt it, just the tiniest bit, tugging at his ribs.

"I mean, I'm _not_," Kyle continued, on his back again, talking mostly to the ceiling. "Important. I wanted to be. I almost was, once."

"Yeah?" Sky said quietly, because Kyle's sadness intrigued him.

"Or I felt like I was, you know. And then..." He sighed, and it sounded both wistful and miserable. "And then I didn't anymore. Just like that."

"Med school?" Schuyler ventured again, even though he was pretty sure that wasn't what Kyle was talking about at all.

A short pause, then a very quiet, "Right."

Sky didn't believe him anymore than Kyle expected him to.

"Just another bad habit," Kyle said, not caring or noticing that it didn't follow the flimsy pretense they were both trying to keep upright.

For such a cocksure bastard, Kyle sure did seem to have some serious self-esteem issues. Schuyler offered up a distraction in the form of a kiss, but Kyle's eyes were glazed over and distant.

"Should I—" He cleared his throat, tried again. "Should I go?"

Kyle's eyes focused then, and he looked a little panicked, much to Sky's unforeseen pleasure.

"You don't have to," he said. "You could... stay?"

"All right," Sky said, suppressing a smile.

"We could have that talk you wanted when you first showed up."

Schuyler chuckled. "Yeahhhhhh. About that."

"What?"

"An elaborate ruse."

* * *

They didn't exactly cuddle. Neither of them seemed quite ready for that, but it _was_nice to have a warm body next to him in bed. He could count the number of times he'd been in that situation—sober—on one hand.

Despite his earlier theory, sleeping with Kyle hadn't exactly cleared him out of his system. He wasn't constantly dogged with wants and needs and urges all wrapped up in Kyle's smile and his smell and the feel of his hands. They were tempered now, but only because they were well fed. They'd be hungry again in the morning, but not starved, and maybe that was the difference. Maybe this could actually... work. Sleeping with Kyle had certainly released a lot of his pent up tension. And now he knew exactly how to scratch that itch if _(when)_ it ever _(absolutely)_returned.

He glanced over. Kyle's lips were turned down in the slightest hint of a frown, even in his sleep. Something about that felt off to Sky. Like maybe there was more to this itch that he thought.

Schuyler reached for Kyle and tugged his sleeping body close. Kyle murmured some sort of sleep-babble, but happily, it sounded. Sky pulled him closer still. He smelled like hickory and danger and salt. Sky didn't know what was compelling him. It must've been some force working outside of his control, because he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Kyle's neck.

"You're important," he whispered.

* * *

_(...TBC...)_


	6. Chapter 6: Butterfly Seven

Chapter Six: Butterfly Seven

* * *

**Stacy**

"Who knew getting pregnant could be so... complicated?"

"It can't be _that_tough," Kim said, popping a french fry into her mouth. "Teenage sluts do it all the time."

"Like my dumbass sister." Stacy glared over at the Rodi's bar. Even though her sister wasn't working right now, it still felt necessary to glare at _something_. It didn't really make her feel any better, or solve any of her problems, but it was a start. She picked up a fry, then set it back down. Her stomach was churning. She still felt a little sick every once in a while, but she supposed that was to be expected after a miscarriage.

And the sadness, too. She considered herself a pretty hardened person, but it still sneaked up on her sometimes. This overwhelming feeling of loss.

It was stupid. She shook her head as if trying to shake away the unwanted feelings. She had barely been pregnant. The baby she lost wasn't so much a baby as a bunch of goo. But still...

No one had really given her a chance to mourn it.

**Schuyler**

"Ooh, don't you look fancy."

Schuyler turned around to see Rachel standing in the doorway of his office. He smiled at her. It was a natural response to her presence. He didn't know if it was just him, or if everyone felt that way, but there was just an aura about her, so calming and sweet, that made him happy.

"Hey," he said as he finished buttoning up his shirt.

"Hot date?"

Schuyler smiled. "Something like that."

"So," Rachel said, sidling up to him. "Who is she?" She poked him in the belly a few times in a friendly manner. Schuyler laughed and flinched away from her.

"Who says she's a she?" he teased.

Rachel stopped poking him and stood straight up. She looked a little like a dog who just caught a scent.

"You're not joking," she said. It wasn't a question.

Schuyler adjusted his collar then checked out his reflection in the black computer monitor. He didn't know why he cared so much about his appearance tonight. It was only Rodi's.

"No. I'm not."

"You never said."

"What? That I, how does that dumb phrase go? 'Swing both ways'?"

"Something like that," Rachel repeated back at him.

"Does it bother you?"

"No." She paused. "Not at all. I guess I just thought you would have told me... before now."

Schuyler smiled. "Didn't realize my sex life was so important to you."

Rachel laughed. It was such a pleasant sound. Like everything else about her. "Okay, okay," she said, coming up behind him and fixing his collar in the back. "Have fun tonight."

"We'll see."

"Have you been out with this guy before? Is this your first date?"

"We've... hung out," Schuyler said. "At the gym. At our places. We've gone out a few times."

Mostly they stayed in, though. They had fallen into a strange sort of pattern. Whichever apartment they had sex in, that's who topped. It was sort of like the other was giving in a little bit. If he or Kyle came a-knocking on the other one's door, it was basically a statement of: "I can't hold out any longer. I need you to fuck me." It was a pretty good deal, and they'd taken full advantage of it over the past few weeks. (He hadn't been keeping count, but he was almost sure Kyle came to him more than the other way around.) And then they'd get hungry and order food in, or sometimes even get dressed and go down to Rodi's or the Buenos Dias for a little bit of replenishment.

He still hadn't been able to go down on Kyle, though. And Kyle hadn't said a word about it.

"Sounds serious," Rachel said, breaking him from his thoughts.

Schuyler paused. He didn't really know if they were serious or not. Or if that was something he even wanted. Tonight _was_the first night they had decided to go out before sex...

"I dunno," he said. He could feel a blush coming over his cheeks, and that only embarrassed him more. "We just hang out. That's all."

Rachel plucked at his dress shirt. "Nice duds for 'hanging out'." She had lowered her voice on the last two words, trying to sound as much like a dude as possible. It made Schuyler laugh. "I'm just happy you've moved on from that girl who was giving you so much heartache." She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "Have fun with your _boyfriend_," she sing-songed.

"Quiet, you." He laughed. "We're friends," he added, and felt that it was true. Which kind of shocked him a little bit. When had he and Kyle become friends?

And could they ever be more than that?

**Kyle**

"Hey, Rox," Kyle called out from his bathroom. "Can you hand me a towel?"

"Sure thing, sugar." She came into the bathroom then let out a loud whistle. "Wow. You look good enough to eat."

"Thanks," he said. He grabbed the towel and wiped the last bits of soap off his face. "Let's hope the night ends up that way," he joked, much to Roxy's delight. She let out a raspy laugh and slapped him playfully on the ass.

"Sooooo," she said, "You and that hunky cop work things out finally?"

Kyle's smile faded. He looked at her reflection and shook his head. "That's not gonna happen, Rox. I've told you. He doesn't want me."

"Sure he does. You said yourself, he kissed you back."

"Okay, well maybe he does want me. He just doesn't _want_to want me. And that's kind of our biggest problem. No," he said, fussing with his hair in the mirror, "I'm seeing someone else tonight. Moving on, you know? Testing the waters again."

"Well, I hope this new guy's good enough for you." She leaned in and squeezed his shoulders. Kyle felt her warmth coast through him. He realized then... he loved Roxy. Really loved her. He didn't know when it happened, but this strange, sometimes mean, always confused, complete mess of a woman had found a way into his heart. "I've only got half a bottle left," she added, "and I don't feel like sharing this time."

Kyle laughed. She leaned in and rested her cheek against his shoulder, squeezing his arms again. "I like seeing you happy for once."

Kyle paused at that and looked himself over in the mirror. What was it that Roxy was seeing in him? Was he really so happy that even she, in her all her charming lack of wisdom, could see it? Maybe it was just the booze talking. He could smell it on her breath, just the faintest hint of it.

"Hey," he said. "You doing okay, Rox?"

"Yeah." She smiled, but it wasn't her wide, open smile. "Yeah, I'm okay, babe. Surviving, like always."

Kyle turned and brought her into a tight hug. She grabbed on just as tight, then pulled back.

"Go. Get out of here. You've got some studly stud biscuit waiting for you, I bet."

"I don't know what I'd do without you, Rox."

She cupped his cheek. "I'm sure you'd be fine, doll. You're a survivor. Like me."

**Stacy**

"Oh my goodness," Kim gasped.

"What?"

"Sky King's here."

"Well, whoop-de-doo," Stacy said, laying her chin on a grumpy fist. She wasn't in the mood for Kim's enthusiasm tonight.

"Baby Daddy Number Two!"

"Would you keep your voice down?" she whispered, frantically looking around the room to make sure no one was listening in.

"And who's that little slice of hot buttered toast with him?"

Stacy turned toward Sky and his dining partner, then let out another grumpy sigh. "Ugh. He's hanging out with Lab Boy? I thought they hated each other."

"Lab Boy?" Kim reached over and slapped Stacy across her arm. "Baby Daddy Number Three! This is great!"

"Yeah," Stacy said, unenthused. "Great."

**Kyle**

"I'm surprised you can sit down today," Kyle said offhandedly.

Schuyler barked out a surprised laugh. "Me too."

Things had gotten pretty wild the night before at Kyle's place. They both grinned at each other, remembering. Kyle felt a sudden warmth come into his chest. Maybe it was just ambient heat from the basket of french fries the waitress had plonked down a few minutes earlier. Kyle snatched a few and popped them into his mouth.

Schuyler looked really good tonight. His funny little beard had been trimmed up nicely, and his shirt was emphasizing the muscles in his arms in all the right ways. Schuyler was a little smaller than his usual type, but he was still stronger than Kyle. Maybe Kyle would take advantage of that tonight at Schuyler's place. Give up all the control and let Schuyler do whatever the hell he wanted to him. Sometimes he needed that.

"We should talk," Schuyler said, kind of out of nowhere.

Kyle glanced around the semi-crowded bar. Rodi's had some fairly heavy business tonight, compared to usual at least.

"In public?" Kyle grinned. He brought his water glass up to his lips and winked at Schuyler. "Who knew you were so kinky?"

Schuyler smiled. "No. I mean, we really should talk. With words and sentences and grammar and everything."

Kyle put down his glass. They'd been using "talk" as a code word for sex ever since Schuyler barged into his apartment for a little talk that had turned into anything but. But now he guessed Schuyler was serious. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Was Schuyler finally gonna give him his walking papers?

"Okay," he said slowly. "Let's... talk."

Silence overtook them for a moment. Kyle cleared his throat. "Schuyler?"

"What is it that we're doing?" Schuyler finally said. "Together, I mean."

"Do you need me to draw a diagram?" Kyle joked, a little nervously. Schuyler smiled, but it faded pretty quickly.

"I mean, we have sex all the time, pretty exclusively I think, we go out for food..." Schuyler gestured at the table. "Are we... dating?"

Kyle turned his glass of water in a circle on the table. He hadn't really done the whole dating thing since college, and even then he couldn't actually call what he and Oliver did 'dating', since they weren't actually allowed to do anything like that. And high school hadn't been much better. He'd told the first girl who asked him out sophomore year that he was gay, and it had gotten around the school pretty quickly, and then he was just... out, to everyone. A few boys had sought him out then, for secret hook-ups, but no one else his age had been out, and that meant that actually doing the whole dating thing was kinda new to him. For someone his age, he thought that was maybe a little bit pathetic. But it had been his own choice after college to keep all of his relationships—if he could even call his string of one night stands that—casual.

Now here was Schuyler, someone who hated him a few months ago, wondering if they should take things to the next level. He wished he was better at this kind of thing, but he didn't have any past experience to rely on.

"Is that what you want?" he finally said, staring at his glass.

"Is that what _you_want?" Schuyler shot back at him.

"I..." Now that the question was finally put to him, Kyle didn't know what to say. He didn't know what he wanted. He liked Schuyler. More than he ever thought he would. He enjoyed spending time with him. He was kind of a great guy, once they got past all their former issues. He _really_ enjoyed having sex with him, and he didn't want that to end any time soon. But dating? He wasn't sure if he was ready for that. If he'd ever be ready for that. Not after what happened in college. He couldn't deal with that again. Hiding his feelings from the world. If he was gonna be with a guy, the guy needed to nut up and be with _him_. The whole shebang.

"I see," Schuyler said. He sighed and actually looked... disappointed.

"I just... wasn't expecting that question. I haven't, you know, done the 'dating' thing—" _Ever_, but Schuyler didn't need to know that. "—in a really, _really_long time."

"It's not that hard, you know." Schuyler smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"I know." Kyle did something then that he hadn't expected to do. He leaned forward and rested his hand on top of Schuyler's. "We could... give it a try?"

"Don't sound too excited about it."

Kyle opened his mouth to protest, but Schuyler laughed at him and he realized that he was joking.

"So," Kyle said, giving Schuyler's hand a squeeze. "You and me, huh?"

"You and me."

"Who woulda thunk it?"

"Neither one of us, a few months ago."

"I dunno," Kyle said. A smirk formed on his lips. He was starting to feel a bit flirty. "It was kinda hot when you threw me over that desk."

**Schuyler**

"You liked that?" Sky said, feeling a bit of weight fall off his shoulders. Now that it was finally out there, this whole relationship-type-thingy that they were skipping ever closer to, he felt... relieved.

Kyle looked at him with a devilish grin. "Maybe we could try it again later. I'm sure Roxy wouldn't mind."

"I don't know. I get the feeling Roxy doesn't like me very much," Sky joked. Well, not really, since it was true.

"Don't worry about that," Kyle said. "I'll get her loving you yet."

"My heart's dream!" Sky clutched at his chest dramatically and batted his eyelashes. Kyle threw a french fry at his face.

They both laughed and there was something extremely comfortable about it all. Schuyler hadn't really come here expecting to ask Kyle if they were more than just fuck-buddies, but now that it had jumped out of him all unexpected-like, he was kind of glad about it. He liked knowing exactly where he stood, unlike with Gigi, where all their feelings just hung there, confused and reckless. His life was too much of a mess already to have one more unresolved question.

Kyle's hand was still on his, and it was incredibly warm and soft. Maybe, just maybe, they could make something of this.

He felt a sudden stiffness in Kyle, then heard a familiar voice turn the corner into the bar.

The cop. And his girlfriend. Kyle looked down at the table, but Schuyler caught him throwing surreptitious glances their way. His whole expression changed, and everything in his body language. The light in his eyes dimmed. And Schuyler liked absolutely nothing about it. Nor the fact that the glances were becoming more and more prevalent.

He felt a simmer start in his chest. Kyle's issues with his ex were still a mystery to him, but he could tell that they were just bubbling at Kyle's surface, and it was starting to spoil what was otherwise a pretty great time between them.

"You okay?" He asked. Kyle started, then finally tore his gaze away.

"Yeah. Absolutely." He smiled and squeezed Sky's hand again. "I'm great."

The waitress came over and set their burgers on the table, distracting them for a moment. He caught her smiling at their clasped hands.

"You just seem a little distracted," Schuyler said, trying for nonchalance. He let go for a second to take a bite of his burger. Kyle followed suit, chomping down on his veggie burger with gusto. He shrugged and brought his hand back to Schuyler's when he put his burger down.

"I'm just thinking about... I dunno," Kyle said. "Stuff."

Stuff, who was sitting at the bar with his girlfriend. Who was shooting Kyle just as many heated glances.

Just then, Gigi walked in and tied a black apron around her waist, preparing for her shift. Rex was right behind her, and he took a seat at the bar, helping himself to a bottle of beer from behind the counter. Gigi noticed Sky and gave him a small smile. Then he caught her rolling her eyes at Stacy and Kim, secluded away in a corner, whispering to each other in low voices like a coven of witches.

Schuyler pulled his hand out from under Kyle's and tucked it into his lap. He hadn't even realized he'd done it, or what it might mean, until Kyle looked at him a little strangely. Perhaps even a little sadly.

Kyle stood abruptly. "I'm gonna put a song on the jukebox. Any requests?"

Schuyler could tell that he was slipping into this falsely-chipper attitude uncomfortably. Chipper and Kyle didn't really go hand-in-hand. He seemed to be twitching a bit nervously, too. He kept tapping his thumb against the side of his jeans, almost manically. All the comfort that had existed between them, just a few moments earlier, had dried up like the top of their overcooked sesame buns.

He followed Kyle to the jukebox and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Maybe we're moving too fast again," Schuyler said.

Kyle leaned against the jukebox and crossed his arms. "What? You really think that?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Maybe we were just caught up in all the... good feelings and forgot about the real world."

Kyle only nodded at him, then slipped a few quarters into the machine. "Maybe..." He turned around and looked toward the bar again. Toward Oliver and his girlfriend. Sky felt his blood heating up. If Kyle looked over there one more time...

"I thought I was ready for this," Kyle said, still covering his chest with his arms, almost like a shield. He straightened. "I _am_ready for this."

"You sure?"

"Yeah... it's just..." He looked down at his shoes, then back up at Schuyler. "When I took your hand earlier..." Kyle began, then drifted off. He bit his lip and looked toward the bar with tired eyes. "I can't be with someone who won't, you know, be with me. Publicly." He sighed. "I don't want to hide anymore."

Schuyler didn't need to follow his line of sight to know what he was looking at. He was staring at Oliver again. And now it was _really_starting to piss him off. If Kyle wanted to be with Oliver so damn badly, then what the hell was he doing with him? Just biding his time?

He noticed Gigi, too, out of the corner of his eye. Rex was leaning over the bar, giving her a soft kiss. He was over Gigi, well and truly over her, but it still stung a little bit to see her with Rex. Rex, who willingly slept with her sister. Rex, who called her a whore-slut-tramp, even in front of their son. Rex, who seemed to have crawled out of a cave and clubbed her over the head, then dragged her back home by the hair.

He really, really hated that guy.

And Oliver. He hated him, too.

Kyle was kind of on his shit-list, too, right now.

"You know what, Kyle?" He said, turning back to his... whatever-the-hell-they-were-to-each-other.

"Hmm?" Kyle finally shifted his gaze away from Oliver and back to Sky.

That's when Sky leaned in, grabbed Kyle by cheeks, and pulled him into a hard kiss. Distantly, he heard the sound of a platter falling to the ground and glasses breaking, followed by a very Gigi-ish "Oh my God!" He peeked an eye open. Gigi and Rex were staring at them with equally stunned (and on Rex's part, stupid) expressions on their faces. He noticed that Oliver was watching them too. He looked positively livid.

_Finders keepers_, he thought to himself, a bit childishly.

Kyle was kissing him back hungrily, fingers digging into his waist, as if he'd been waiting for Schuyler to do that all night. He tasted like french fries and Dr. Pepper. He tasted good.

But it was a bit too little, too late. If Kyle hadn't been staring at his ex all night with big, sad, kitteny eyes, maybe Schuyler would have kissed him sooner.

He pulled back. Kyle tried to capture his lips again—and Jesus he looked hot with his eyes all dark and hooded and his lips kissed to perfect pinkness—but Schuyler gently pushed him off. He took one last look at Gigi and Rex, another one at Oliver, and remembered again why he was pissed off.

"And I can't be with someone who's in love with someone else," he said, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. It wasn't working so well. "The ball's in your court now, Kyle." He turned for the door, exited the building, and let the cold night air sting his face.

**Stacy**

"Woah!" Kim practically hooted. "Didn't see _that_coming."

Stacy frowned. "We are so boned. What am I supposed to do now?"

"No worries," Kim said, in that chirpy, optimistic voice of hers that was like fingernails on a chalkboard at the moment.

"No worries? Are you nuts?"

"There's still plenty of time for boning." Kim lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "That, my dear, was most definitely a goodbye kiss."

"For reals?"

"For. Reals. I've given my share of plenty. Sky King's none too happy right now, either. It's the perfect time."

"It is?"

"Do I have to think of everything around here? Yes. It is. Get that perky little ass of yours out of your chair and track that boy down. Oh, and don't forget this." She pulled a small vial out of her purse and handed it over. "Always bring backup."

**Schuyler**

There was a light knock on his door. He swore to God if it was Kyle fucking Lewis coming around trying to weasel-talk his way out of being a... a... well, someone he didn't feel like talking to right now, he'd probably... well, he'd probably sleep with him, but he wouldn't be very nice about it.

He tore open the door and was surprised to see a tiny blond head instead.

"Stacy?"

"Hey, you," she said. Her hands were clasped in front of her and she looked almost demure. "Can I come in?"

Schuyler squinted at her. "...Why?"

"To talk?" she said. Her voice sounded very tired and a little sad. "I know I've been the world's biggest bitch, but, well, I kinda need a friend tonight, and so I thought..." she trailed off. She kept her eyes away from Schuyler, looking to the side instead. He thought he could see the slightest glimmer of a tear in the corner of her eye. Or his mind was playing tricks on him. He knew he told Gigi to shoot him in the head if he ever gave Stacy the time of day again, after everything she'd pulled to make everyone's lives miserable, but there was something different about her tonight. Maybe something had happened to knock some sense into her finally. Maybe this was the Stacy he used to know.

"Yeah. Sure. Okay. Come on in, Stacy."

"Thanks." She looked around his apartment, as if she'd never been in there before. Or was making sure they were alone. Which was strange. "Do you have any milk?" she asked.

"Milk?"

Stacy rubbed her belly softly. "For the baby."

"Right. The baby."

"Oh Sky!" she suddenly blurted out. "I'm so scared and alone!" She rushed forward and clutched him in her arms. "I don't know what to do!"

He wasn't sure if she meant it, or if she was layering it on a little thick, but her arms did tremble against his, and he didn't think she was that great an actress to pull something like that off without really meaning it it.

He held her a little closer, this woman who used to be his whole world. "It's okay, Stace. I'm here."

**Stacy**

Stacy closed her eyes and breathed a little easier. She always knew she could count on Sky. Even when he was a drugged-out loser, she could still rely on him to be nice to her. She felt the weight of the tiny vial in her front pocket. Maybe she wouldn't need the Butterfly 7 after all...

But, no. She _had_to be sure this would work. And that meant playing dirty, just like Gigi did.

"How about that milk?" she said quietly, hoping Sky was falling for her wounded bird act. It wasn't so hard to act sad and alone. Not when it was true.

"Coming right up," he replied.

Stacy pulled the vial out of her pocket and palmed it—a neat trick she'd learned from a street performer in Vegas.

"Pour yourself a glass, too," she said. "I hate drinking alone."

_(...TBC...)_


End file.
